j.«.y»ui.^w»>i.^>j.r^ 


47^iiy 


:ir.-^'-KMfev4?i> 


QC>rJ\^v€2:> 


L.B.HILLES 


1 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 

# 

THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 

_i 

5V1LMER  COLLECTION 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/chickenscomehomeOOhill 


PHCEBE    STRONG. 

"  Ves~a  Spirit  pure  as  hers  is  always  pure,  e'en 
when  it  errs,  as  sunshine,  broken  by  the  rill,  tho' 
turned  aside,  is  sunshine  still," 


CHICKENS 
COME  HOME  TO  ROOST 


A   NOVEL 


TWELFTH   EDITION. 


By 
L.  B.  HILLES 


THE  MUTUAL  PUBLISHING  CO., 
3PXJ38XaIS3HE3RS, 


PUBLISHEKS" 

NEW  YORK 


Bnterad  according  to  Act  of  Oongretss  in  ths  jear  eighteen  hundred  and 
ninety-nine,  by 

L.    B.    HILLKB, 

la  the  Office  of  the  Ubru-Ian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


AH  Rights  Reserved. 


TO 

GEORGE  R  SMITH, 

WHO  LOVES  A  HORSE ;  WHOSE  HEART  PULSATES  IN  A  ROYAL 

SETTING ;  WHOSE  FIDELITY  NEVER  FALTERS.  AND 

WHOSE  FRIENDSHIP  NEVER  FAILS, 

THIS  VOLUME  IS 

DEDICATED  BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


5s. 

I 


It  is  an  old  lesson,  time  approves  it  true, 
And  those  who  know  it  hest,  deplore  it  most. 
When  all  is  won  that  all  desire  to  woo, 
The  paltry  prize  is  hardly  worth  the  cost. 

Lord  Byron. 


PREFACE. 


It  is  no  longer  fashionable  to  encumber  books  with  a 
preface.  Never  having  observed  the  rules  of  fashion,  I 
am,  of  course,  lacking  in  a  proper  sense  of  their  value. 

As  it  will  sometimes  happen  that  some  of  the  details 
of  a  great  and  imposing  architectural  pile  will  escape 
the  observation  of  many,  and  therefore  fail  to  excite 
praise,  so  perhaps,  it  may  happen  that  much  of  this 
work  will  meet  with  a  similar  fate. 

Already,  however,  I  fancy  the  great  business  of  the 
reader  will  be  to  go  about  and  declare  his  or  her  disbe- 
lief in  the  existence  of  many  of  the  characters  I  have 
attempted  to  portray.  Therefore,  it  seems  proper  to 
insist  in  the  very  beginning,  that  the  incidents  related 
in  this  book  actually  took  place,  and  that  there  was 
such  a  character  as  Phineas  Strong.  In  that  portion  of 
Virginia  where  he  lived,  the  memory  of  his  good  deeds 
is  enshrined  in  the  hearts  of  his  grateful  neighbors. 
His  eternal  local  fame  is  as  assured  as  is  the  world 
fame  of  Washington  and  Lincoln.  He  had  a  daughter 
whose  name  was  Phoebe.  The  incredulous  pilgrim 
may,  if  inclination  prompts,  journey  to  that  same  little 
burying  ground  on  the  banks  of  the  Rappahannock 
River,  and  there  find  the  grave  of  this  same   Phoebe, 


Vi  PREFACE. 

and  in  the  shade  of  that  fragrant  cedar,  on  the  silent 
shaft  that  throws  its  soft  and  tender  shadows  around 
the  sacred  scene,  may  be  still  read  the  inscription  loyal 
affection  inspired. 

As  to  the  hero  of  the  piece,  he,  after  its  publication, 
may,  by  means  of  private  pamphlet  or  public  press,  de- 
mur, traverse,  rejoin  or  plead  to  many  of  the  allega- 
tions on  its  pages ;  but,  knowing  him  as  I  do,  as  a  lover 
of  the  truth,  I  would  not  be  surprised  if,  as  heretofore, 
he  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  unheard,  un- 
noticed and  unsung.  Though  I  have  laid  before  the 
public  eye  his  character  and  the  secrets  of  his  generous 
heart,  his  real  name  will  never  be  expressed  by  pen  of 
mine. 

Respectfully, 

L.    B.    HiLLKg. 

Sound  Beaoh,  Conn. 


LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Phcebe  Strong, Frontispiece. 

He  took  the  colors  from  his  stricken  father,    ....    Page  35 


The  drummer-boy  of  Chancellorsville, 

Thee  has  no  money — take  this,       

She  entered  the  room  of  the  sleeper,       

Dewy  Iris  wins  this  heat — time  3:143^, 

She  was  coming  up  the  stretch,  running  like  mad, 

My  son?    Did  you  say  my  son?       

She  spoke,  and  the  voice  was  the  voice  of  Phoebe  Strong, 
He  beheld  his  old  friend  in  the  wide  doorway,     .     .     . 


40 
96 
113 
186 
199 
379 
39a 
295 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 


CHAPTER    I. 

In  that  part  of  Culpepper  County,  Virginia,  Tvhere 
the  west  bank  of  the  Rappahannock  River  forms  its 
boundary,  and  about  fifteen  miles  northwest  of  Freder- 
icksburg, on  the  30th  day  of  April,  1863,  there  stood, 
and  perhaps  still  stands,  an  old-fashioned  farmhouse 
of  the  Colonial  type.  It  faced  the  rising  sun,  and  over- 
looked at  the  base  of  a  terraced  hill  the  beautiful  river 
as  it  rippled  to  the  sea.  The  front  of  this  house  veas 
sheltered  by  a  wide  porch  which  extended  north  and 
south  its  extreme  length.  Ten  or  twelve  massive  square 
pillars  supported  the  roof,  which  was  above  the  second 
story.  The  porch  flooring  was  of  oak  boards,  scrubbed 
white  and  smooth.  Green  blinds,  half -closed,  shaded 
a  row  of  windows  along  the  walls,  and  in  the  center,  a 
wide  old-fashioned  door,  with  narrow  windows  on  either 
side,  a  brass  knocker  in  its  middle,  indicated  the  means 
of  entrance  and  exit. 

At  the  north  end  of  this  porch,  and  continuing  around 
the  corner  to  the  south  until  it  reached  the  second  pillar, 
was  a  lattice  work,  extending  upward  ten  or  twelve 
feet.  Upon  this  lattice  a  honeysuckle  bush  flourished 
in  luxuriant  and  perfumed  extravagance.  Its  petals 
had  already  burst  into  full  bloom,  and  the  zephyr  that 


8  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

stirred  its  leaves  with  a  touch  as  gentle  as  a  breath 
was  laden  with  the  sweet  odors  of  the  vine  and  the 
flower. 

The  silence  around  was  unbroken;  a  bee,  darting  in 
and  out  of  a  blossom  with  a  rapidity  that  defied  the 
quickness  of  the  eye,  whirred  its  wings  occasionally, 
and  the  sound  was  like  the  roaring  of  a  river,  so  quiet 
was  everything. 

It  was  near  to  ten  o'clock,  and  the  morning  sun  was 
far  above  the  bold  hills  that  formed,  at  this  part,  the 
opposite  shore  of  the  river.  Its  warm  rays  were  fall- 
ing in  splendor  over  the  scene.  The  white  walls  of  the 
house  looked  glistening  and  whiter  in  the  clear  sun- 
light. The  large,  tall,  red  chimneys  that  flanked  and 
seemed  to  protect  the  house  at  either  end,  shone  redder 
and  brighter  than  ever.  The  green  blinds  matched  the 
lilac  leaves  in  the  yard,  and  harmonized  with  the  wav- 
ing grass  that  adorned  the  terraces. 

About  this  scene  was  an  air  of  neatness  rare  to  see. 
The  wide  porch  suggested  home,  and  the  huge  walnut 
tree,  whose  mighty  limbs  shaded  its  south  end  and  a 
portion  of  the  house,  seemed  to  invite  even  the  stranger 
to  repose  in  the  seats  beneath  its  foliage.    As  I  said,  all  QDp 
was  silent.     There  was  no  sign  of  life,  human  or  other-  .  •    •  ■ 
wise,  except  the  aforesaid  bee,  who  was  even  now  en-  '^^*J 
tirely  buried  in  a  blossom  of  honeysuckle. 

Quietly,  suddenly,  the  door  opened,  and  immediately      pnr 
there  came  forth  a  young  person  of  the  female  sex.     I      i^^y 
said  she  was  young  before  I  saw  her  face,  because  the 
lightness  of  her  step  indicated  that  only  the  grace  of 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  9 

youth  could  "walk  with  such  fawn-like  softness.  When 
she  had  closed  the  door,  her  face  came  into  full  view, 
and  reader,  on  that  day  I  saw  the  face  of  one  that  was 
destined  never  to  depart  from  memory.  This  face  be- 
longed to  the  heroine  of  my  story,  and  such  faces  are 
only  seen  nowadays  in  pictures  or  fanciful  lithographs. 
I  am  vain  enough  to  attempt  a  description  of  this  person 
as  I  saw  her  on  that  day. 

She  was  perhaps  eighteen,  perhaps  twenty,  with  a 
form  more  inclining  to  tall  than  short,  and  yet  she  was 
neither  tall  nor  short.  Her  costume,  I  confess,  looked 
a  little  quaint,  and  my  lady  readers  will  no  doubt 
smile  when  I  describe  it.  Her  head  was  adorned  with 
what  we  call  a  poke  bonnet,  such  as  we  now  see  worn 
by  members  of  the  Salvation  Army.  It  was  made  of 
drab  silk,  over  pasteboard,  and  had  not  a  flower  on  it. 
Broad  bands  of  silk  ribbons,  tied  in  a  bow  beneath  her 
chin,  held  it  in  place,  and  I  can  assure  my  lady  friends 
it  was  adjusted  exactly  straight.  From  underneath 
her  bonnet  hung  two  heavy  braids  of  hair,  so  long  as 
to  reach  below  her  middle,  and  so  luxuriant  in  growth 
as  to  appear  a  little  lacking  in  symmetrical  proportions. 
The  color  was  black,  real  black,  and  the  texture  as  soft 
and  as  fine  as  silk.  Her  dress  was  a  close-fitting 
bodice,  and  from  it  hung  two  flowing  sleeves,  then 
known  as  bell  sleeves;  also  a  skirt  of  the  style  of  the 
period,  that  is,  exactly  round,  and  not  longer  behind 
than  in  front,  and  kept  in  position  and  made  to  swell 
out  by  means  of  a  set  of  rattan  hoops.  I  say  rattan, 
because  I  often  saw  these  same  hoops  afterward.     This 


10  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

dress  was  silk  and  of  the  color  of  her  bonnet.  The  posi- 
tion of  the  dress  enabled  me  to  see  not  only  the  lady's 
feet,  which  were  small  and  finely-formed,  but  also  her 
ankle,  whose  delicacy  of  outline  did  not  fail  to  suggest 
the  truest  and  most  exact  proportions  elsewhere.  But 
it  was  the  face  I  intended  to  describe. 

To  begin,  her  brow  was  broad  and  smooth,  and  not 
so  high  as  to  be  intellectual.  Her  eyebrows,  of  a  lux- 
uriant fringe,  were  arched  and  curved  beyond  the  power 
of  art  to  imitate.  Her  eyes  were  large,  a  deep  brown, 
such  eyes  as  one  sees  in  a  gazelle.  They  were  full, 
lustrous,  wide  and  wondering.  Of  course,  some  might 
have  had  her  nose  a  little  larger.  It  was,  however, 
exactly  straight  and  exactly  regular,  and  more  Grecian 
than  Koman.  Her  mouth  might,  I  admit,  have  been 
smaller  to  comply  with  true  art,  but  it  was  such  a 
pretty  mouth  that  when  she  smiled,  and  the  corners 
curved  upward  and  the  milk  white  teeth  in  two  regu- 
lar rows  dazzled  before  you,  you  were  apt  to  think  this 
mouth  the  most  inviting  you  had  ever  seen.  The  lips 
were  red  and  always  moist,  and  if  ever  a  suggestion  of 
kisses  was  expressed  by  features,  these  lips  and  this 
mouth  expressed  it. 

But  the  face — yes,  the  face;  well,  it  was  an  oval  face, 
tapering  to  a  chin,  that  was  neither  small  nor  large, 
but  in  right  proportion,  and  its  point  broken  by  a  dim- 
ple that  spread  and  grew  deeper  when  she  laughed.  In 
color,  this  face  had  the  most  bewitching  quality,  the 
most  pleasing  charm.  The  brow  was  whiter  than  the 
whitest  snow,  the  cheeks  like  pure  vermilion,  and  the 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  11 

lower  part  blending  to  a  delicate  pink.  I  am  sure, 
ladies,  though  I  did  not  touch  it,  the  skin  was  as  soft 
as  velvet.  Her  neck  was  a  pillar  of  whiteness  and 
supported  her  queenly  head  with  a  regal  grace.  Her 
form  was  plump,  and  her  bust  development  a  little  more 
pronounced  than  an  artist  would  have  drawn,  yet  you 
would  have  resented  a  suggestion  to  have  it  lessened. 

The  bell  sleeves,  before  mentioned,  instead  of  con- 
cealing, exposed  her  lovely  arms  to  the  elbows,  and 
through  the  knitted  silk  mittens  that  half-concealed  her 
hands,  and  reached  nearly  the  length  of  the  arms,  you 
could  see  the  white  and  red  of  a  lovely  skin.  From  one 
hand  she  swung  a  parasol,  or  sunshade;  and  I  am 
afraid  my  fair  critics  would  have  me  say  this  hand  was 
small  and  dainty.  I  am  telling  the  truth,  and  am 
describing  a  creature  who  really  lived  and  moved,  and 
I  want  to  be  exact.  Her  hand,  then,  was  not  small. 
Indeed  it  was  rather  a  large  hand  for  a  woman,  and  it 
was  plump  and  red  with  short  fingers,  and  looked  a 
little  as  though  it  was  more  familiar  with  household 
work  than  with  music  and  painting.  It  was  the  face, 
however,  from  which  the  soul  of  this  character  was  re- 
flected. The  large,  wondering  eyes,  the  perfect  and 
delicate  features,  the  placid  brow,  all  bespoke  inno- 
cence, goodness,  gentleness. 

Her  hand  and  chin  may  have  indicated  firmness,  but 
the  rest  was  all  womanly,  all  girlishness,  all  freshness, 
all  sprightliness.  Such  was  on  that  day  my  heroine. 
She  was  Phoebe  Strong,  and  was  just  going  out  to  visit 
an  old  colored  woman  who  lived  a  mile  down  the  river. 


12  CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  11. 

Before  proceeding  to  acquaint  my  readers  with  the 
particular  purpose  Phcebe  had  in  visiting  a  white- 
washed cabin  on  the  riverside,  I  deem  it  proper  to  make 
further  observations  about  the  scene  to  which  they  have 
been  introduced. 

The  old-fashioned  house  was,  then,  the  home  and 
residence  of  one  Phineas  Strong.  It  was  nearly  in  the 
middle  of  an  estate  that  lay  along  the  river  for  a  mile 
north  and  south,  and  extended  back  toward  the  hills 
and  woods  for  another  mile,  comprising  in  all  nearly 
fifteen  hundred  acres.  Much  of  it  was  rich  meadow 
along  the  river,  some  hillsides,  and  a  portion  a  wooded 
tableland  toward  the  west.  Of  this  estate  perhaps  six 
hundred  acres  consisted  of  primitive  forest.  From  its 
position  on  an  elevation  somewhat  back,  the  house  com- 
manded a  magnificent  view  up  and  down  the  river  and 
beyond  into  Fauquier  and  Staficord  Counties. 

The  place  had  long  been  known  as  River  View,  and 
was  in  many  respects  an  elegant,  old-fashioned  Vir- 
ginia country  home.  In  addition  to  the  mansion, 
which,  large  and  roomy  and  full  two  stories  and  attic 
high,  there  was  a  large  stone  barn  to  the  left  and  south, 
a  large  carriage  bouse,  also  of  stone,  a  large  smoke 
house,  of  red   brick,  a  blacksmith   shop,  several  corn 


CHiCKE]^S   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  13 

cribs,  a  spacious  sty  for  pigs,  some  distance  from  the 
barn,  and  toward  the  river. 

Directly  in  front  of  the  house,  nestling  half-hidden 
under  a  little  hill,  and  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  button- 
wood  or  sycamore  tree,  was  a  long,  low  building,  called 
the  dairy.  It  was  also  of  stone.  A  well-beaten  path 
led  direct  to  this  spot,  and  at  its  terminus  was  a  spring 
of  sparkling  water,  which  bubbled  perpetually  at  the 
door  of  the  spring  house  and  flowed  over  a  sanded  and 
pebbled  floor  in  the  interior;  thence  discharged  itself 
from  the  other  side,  whence  it  went  falling  and  leaping 
from  terrace  to  terrace,  and  from  rock  to  rock  till  it 
mingled  with  the  waters  of  the  Rappahannock,  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  away. 

All  of  these  buildings  were  white,  in  a  recent  coating 
of  lime.  The  fences  which  inclosed  them  were  also 
white.  The  gates  were  all  on  their  hinges.  There 
were  no  loose  palings,  no  broken  boards.  There  was  no 
litter  in  the  yard  and  no  debris  on  the  grass  plots. 
The  shade,  fruit,  and  ornamental  trees  were  neatly 
trimmed  into  various  artistic  shapes,  and  the  whole 
surroundings  indicated  thrift,  neatness,  plenty,  taste, 
elegance,  and  peace.  There  was  not  another  house,  ex- 
cept the  cabin  to  which  Phoebe  was  directing  her  steps, 
within  a  mile's  distance.  A  driveway  in  front  of  the 
house  led  to  a  gateway  about  three  hundred  yards  to 
the  south,  which  opened  upon  a  country  road  that 
crossed  the  river  at  a  point  where  there  was  a  passable 
and  safe  fording.  This  road  led  directly  through  the 
estate,  and  while  it  belonged  absolutely  to  and  was 


14  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

kept  in  order  by  its  owner,  custom  from  time  imme- 
morial had  sanctioned  its  use  by  the  public. 

From  the  description  of  River  View  the  reader  may, 
perhaps,  form  some  idea  of  the  character  of  its  occu- 
pants. 

The  present  owner  was  a  Quaker,  and  had  now  lived 
here  nearly  twenty  years.  Why  he  located  there  and 
why  he  was  content  to  remain,  were  then,  and  perhaps 
are  now,  subjects  of  never  ending  speculation. 

Many  remembered  when  Phineas  Strong  first  moved 
into  the  neighborhood.  He  came  to  Fredericksburg  by 
boat  from  somewhere  north.  Some  said  from  Philadel- 
phia, but  others  are  positive  he  came  from  Reading; 
still  others  that  he  came  from  New  York. 

His  family  consisted  of  himself,  his  wife,  four  boys 
and  a  baby  in  arms,  a  girl,  who  in  time  became  our 
heroine,  Phoebe. 

Phineas  Strong  dressed  then  and  until  he  died  in  the 
garb  of  his  religion.  He  used  the  plain  language  on  all 
occasions,  and  to  every  one. 

In  person  he  was  tall,  broad  shouldered,  had  a  fine, 
well  rounded  head,  covered  with  a  wealth  of  dark 
brown  hair,  curling,  and  falling  in  waves  to  his  coat 
collar.  His  face  and  form  reminded  many  of  the  pic- 
tures of  George  Washington.  His  ej^es  were  blue,  and 
had  a  tender  expression  which  spoke  volumes  for  the 
goodness  of  his  heart.  His  countenance,  however,  was 
placid,  serene  and  ruddy.  He  looked  then,  and  twenty 
years  after,  the  picture  of  health,  unruffled  content,  and 
a  splendid  physical  manhood. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  15 

His  wife  was  rather  diminutive  in  size  and  stature. 
Her  costume  complied  with  the  rules  of  her  religion, 
but  her  face,  which  shone  out  from  her  Shaker  bonnet, 
was  as  sweet  and  as  placid  as  a  day  in  May.  Hardly 
a  shadow  could  be  detected,  and  though  you  might  gaze 
into  her  brown  eyes  forever  the  expression  was  always 
one  of  affection  and  peace.  She  looked  the  sweet  wife 
and  ideal  mother;  and  it  was  remarked  by  many  how 
closely  she  strained  little  Phoebe  to  her  bosom  on  the 
morning  she  walked  down  the  gangplank  from  the 
steamer  to  the  shore.  She  had  never  seen  River  View 
until  that  morning  twenty  years  ago.  Phineas  had 
purchased  it  because  he  liked  it.  She  never  even  in- 
quired where  it  was.  If  it  suited  Phineas  it  would  suit 
her.  She  had  no  life,  no  plans  apart  from  her  hus- 
band, and  where  he  was,  there  she  was  content. 

He  helped  her  and  the  baby  from  the  carriage  when 
they  arrived  in  front  of  that  grand,  wide  old  porch, 
waved  his  hand  toward  the  flowing  river,  and  said: 
"How  does  thee  like  the  place,  Rachel?" 

"I  think  it  is  lovely,  Phineas.  I  am  sure  we  will  all 
be  very  happy  here." 

An  old  colored  woman  who  had  been  born  on  the 
place  welcomed  her,  and  led  her  and  the  four  boys  into 
the  house. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  life  of  most  of  my 
characters  at  River  View,  who  have  contrived  to  make 
it  a  famous  spot,  and  who  have  achieved  more  or  less 
distinction  in  the  pages  that  are  to  follow. 


16  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER   III. 

River  View  had  once  been  the  estate  of  Benjamin 
Porter,  whose  name  is  carved  in  rude  letters  upon  a 
large  stone  that  is  set  in  the  east  wall  just  over  the 
wide  door  with  the  brass  knocker.  This  stone  bears 
date  1767.  It  may  still  be  seen,  and  suggests  to  the 
beholder  many  things  besides  the  vanity  of  the  builder. 

North  of  this  mansion  is  a  plot  of  ground  surrounded 
by  a  white  board  fence  and  adorned  with  boxwood  and 
cedar  trees.  It  is  the  family  burying  ground.  All  the 
tombstones  then  contained  the  name  of  Porter,  but,  up 
to  the  opening  of  my  story,  not  a  grave  had  been  dug 
in  it  since  1822.  In  the  month  of  March,  that  year, 
the  17th,  I  think  the  tombstone  says,  the  remains  of 
David  Porter,  aged  thirty-three,  were  laid  to  rest. 
Inquiry  will  enlighten  him  who  is  curious  of  the  fact 
that  David  Porter  was  the  grandson  of  the  founder  of 
River  View,  and  that  on  or  about  the  said  17th  day  of 
March,  1822,  he  was  shot  in  a  quarrel  with  his  brother, 
William  Porter,  in  a  dispute  as  to  which  should  receive 
the  favors  of  Miss  Letitia  Edwards,  a  Fauquier  County 
belle,  who  lived  some  miles  up  the  river. 

It  seem  Miss  Edwards  loved  the  one  who  was  killed, 
and,  upon  learning  the  truth  of  the  situation,  the  mur- 
derer fled  the  country. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  17 

These  two  inherited  the  property  jointly.  Their 
mother  and  only  sister  being  dead,  and  there  being  no 
contestants,  the  surviving  brother  neoessarily  took  the 
entire  estate.  For  many  years  he  managed,  by  means 
of  correspondence,  the  affairs  of  the  property,  and 
through  the  fidelity  of  one  of  his  father's  slaves  kept  it 
in  good  repair  and  prosperous.  But  one  day  the  old 
slave  died,  and  the  place  began  to  run  down.  The 
taxes  were  unpaid,  and  things  went  from  bad  to  worse. 
At  last  word  came  that  William  Porter,  the  owner,  had 
died  in  a  Northern  city.  The  whole  property  was  about 
to  escheat  to  the  State,  no  heirs  having  appeared,  when 
Phineas  Strong  arrived  at  the  Court  House,  and  filed 
for  record  a  warranty  deed  purporting  to  have  been  ex- 
ecuted by  William  Porter,  bachelor,  in  consideration  of 
five  thousand  dollars — a  paltry  sum  even  at  that  time. 

Strong  paid  the  taxes,  and  proceeded  to  take  posses- 
sion. There  were  hints  at  times  that  his  title  was  bad 
and  that  other  heirs  would  come  some  day  and  claim 
the  property,  but  to  these  he  paid  no  attention.  Porter 
had  owned  the  property  uninterruptedly  from  1822  to 
1843,  and  the  Strongs  had  now  been  in  quiet  possession 
for  twenty  years.  It  would  seem  that  Phineas  Strong 
might  rest  secure  on  that  point.  The  estate  had,  how- 
ever, under  his  management  become  valuable,  and 
yearly  products  of  wheat  and  tobacco  had  given  him 
more  than  a  competence.  Indeed,  Strong,  unlika  most 
of  his  neighbors,  was  rich  in  both  lands  and  money. 
He  had,  however,  no  slaves,  nor  had  he  ever  any.  He 
was  not  in  sympathy  with  the  people  and  customs  about 


18  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

him.  He  was  neither  religious  nor  social.  He  had  no 
political  aspirations,  and  now  was  heartily  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  Union. 

His  peculiarities  were  marked  in  other  ways.  He 
was  known  to  be  rich,  and  was  often  appealed  to  by  his 
neighbors  for  loans.  As  securities  for  the  sums,  which 
he  never  refused,  he  was  offered  mortgages  upon  slaves. 
These  he  never  accepted.  Then,  he  never  charged  his 
patrons  any  interest,  and  this,  instead  of  resounding  to 
his  credit,  was  often  the  subject  of  adverse  criticism. 
Some  impugned  his  motives,  and  others  said  he  had 
once  committed  some  great  sin,  and  did  such  things  to 
appease  a  guilty  conscience.  However,  all  in  need 
were  quick  to  appeal  to  his  ready  purse,  and  all  were 
equally  positive  that  the  man  was  either  a  crank  or  a 
rogue.  But  as  none  of  these  observations  reached  the 
ears  of  Phineas  Strong,  he  lived  among  them  twenty 
years,  mentally  at  ease,  happy,  prosperous,  above  envy, 
above  want,  fearless,  generous,  and  exact. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST  19 


CHAPTER  IV. 

In  order  that  the  reader  may  a  little  better  under- 
stand the  conduct  of  some  of  my  characters,  I  will  re- 
mind him  or  her  that  the  Civil  War  was  now  in  prog- 
ress, and  for  more  than  two  years  all  of  that  part  of 
Virginia  in  the  vicinity  of  the  home  of  my  heroine  was 
one  vast  battlefield,  the  scenes  already  of  conflicts  past 
and  conflicts  to  come  between  the  grand  armies  of  the 
North  and  the  brave  and  persistent  ones  of  the  South. 

Phineas  Strong  was  an  abolitionist,  and  his  sym- 
pathy was  with  the  Union,  but  as  all  of  his  neighbors 
were  already  enlisted  in  the  Southern  cause,  his  posi- 
tion and  sentiments  provoked  no  open  hostility.  His 
religious  training,  in  a  measure,  restrained  his  real  im- 
pulses, as  there  is  no  doubt  but  for  these  the  retreat  at 
Bull  Run,  which  chagrined  him  terribly,  would  have 
found  him  a  volunteer  in  the  Union  Army.  His  per- 
sonal courage  was  unquestioned,  and  as  his  sentiments 
were  never  concealed,  few  expected  that  he  would  re- 
main passive  during  the  conflict.  His  age,  now  sixty- 
two,  may  have,  of  course,  restrained  his  natural  ardor, 
and  his  love  of  home,  of  wife,  his  affection  for  Phoebe, 
have  influenced  him  in  his  course.  But  those  who 
know  the  hereditary  influences  that  exist  among  the 


20  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

Quaker  sect  against  the  shedding  of  human  blood,  will 
perhaps  understand  why  he  forbore  to  take  up  arms. 

There  was  one  other  reason  that  might  have  excused 
him.  The  four  boys  mentioned  in  thesecondchapter, 
Robert,  George,  Ephraim  and  Edward,  had  all  gone 
just  as  soon  as  they  heard  the  firing  of  the  guns  at  Bull 
Run.  He  witnessed  their  riding  away,  each  on  his 
horse,  and  never  said  them  nay.  At  that  battle  Robert 
had  fallen,  and  he  and  Phoebe  had  gone  to  the  front 
the  morning  after  the  fight  and  found  his  body,  face 
down,  his  head  toward  the  enemy.  They  brought  it 
home,  and  it  was  laid  in  the  little  family  burying 
ground,  already  described. 

It  was  a  source  of  quiet  consolation,  despite  his  great 
grief,  that  Phineas  Strong  found  his  son's  remains  on 
the  battlefield  with  his  face  to  the  foe.  He  said  to 
Rachel  when  he  laid  the  corpse  on  the  bier  in  the  front 
room,  "Mother,  Robbie  wasn't  running  away  when  he 
fell." 

Ephraim,  George  and  Edward  were  now  encamped 
with  Burnside's  army,  some  miles  down  the  river;  but, 
as  between  their  home  and  camp,  a  long  line  of  Con- 
federate pickets,  reaching  from  the  Rapidan  to  near 
Fredericksburg,  extended,  communications  by  visits 
between  these  young  loyal  soldiers  and  their  home  were 
completely  cut  off.  Mails  there  were,  but  these  were 
uncertain,  and  absolutely  beyond  the  reach  of  the  boys 
in  blue.  Various  expedients  and  schemes  were  there- 
fore employed  by  the  brothers  to  send  messages  of  love 
and  encouragement  to  Phoebe  and  their  mother. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  21 

At  this  time  there  extended  and  was  in  occasional 
operation  a  backwater  canal  along  the  Rappahannock 
River  from  Fredericksburg  to  Kelly's  Mills.  This 
canal,  ruins  of  which  still  exist,  was  used  before  the 
war  to  transport  flour  and  other  freight  down  the  river 
to  tide  water  at  Fredericksburg.  The  Strong  boys  had 
often  sailed  down  this  canal  on  the  flat-bottomed  boats 
manned  by  slaves.  At  intervals  along  the  route  were 
locks  for  lowering  or  raising  the  boats.  At  these  locks 
was  generally  a  keeper  or  toll  collector.  The  keeper 
was  usually  a  slave,  and  occupied  a  hut  or  cabin  on  the 
bank  of  the  river  near  the  scene  of  his  duties. 

Just  above  where  the  road  referred  to  entered  the 
river  there  stood,  and  perhaps  still  stands,  the  white- 
washed cabin  of  the  lock  keeper.  The  locks  were  there 
at  the  time  my  story  opens,  and  occasionally  canal 
boats,  by  the  aid  of  slaves  and  poles,  made  their  way 
up  and  down  the  river.  Among  the  slaves  who  had 
the  confidence  of  his  master  to  an  unlimited  extent  was 
a  swarthy  black  giant  named  George,  the  property  of 
Mr.  Kelly,  up  the  river.  George  was  so  honest  that  his 
master  would  trust  him  to  take  a  boat  load  of  flour  to 
Fredericksburg,  and  receive  the  money  for  it.  George 
was  never  known  to  lie  or  steal. 

In  the  cabin  near  the  locks  on  Strong's  place  lived, 
and  had  lived  from  a  time  whereof  the  memory  of  man 
runneth  not  back  to  the  contrary,  a  colored  woman 
named  Dinah.  Dinah  was  of  huge  frame,  and  of 
powerful  muscular  development.  No  one  knew  how  old 
she  was.     She  had  swung  the  locks  herself,  and  could 


32  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

do  it  with  ease  in  slack  water  and  in  flood.  In  his  trips 
black  George  and  big  Dinah  necessarily  became  ac- 
quainted, and  between  the  two  there  sprang  up  a  warm 
and  lasting  affection.  Many  and  many  a  time  in  the 
early  dawn  George  would  pole  his  boat  into  the  locks, 
and  as  it  glided  noiselessly  along,  drink  a  cup  of  steam- 
ing coffee  and  swallow  an  immense  slice  of  corn  bread 
which  Dinah  would  pass  to  him.  Then  as  the  boat 
swung  into  the  stream,  you  could  hear  him  say,  "Eecon 
that's  po'erful  good  coffee,  Miss  Dinah.  They  ain't 
none  up  the  river  like  that,  suah!" 

Dinah  was  there  when  the  Strongs  came.  She  said 
she  was  there  "Long  'fore  dem  Porters;  rec'n  she  be- 
longed to  Mar's  Porter." 

Phineas  Strong  told  her  she  was  free,  and  handed  her 
a  piece  of  paper  with  writing  to  that  effect. 

She  took  the  document,  held  it  upside  down,  then 
crosswise,  pretending  to  read  it  through,  then  said: 
*'Dis  heah  paper  doan  tell  me  whar  Ise  to  go.  Guess 
I'll  show  it  to  Geauge  when  he  comes  down  de  river, 
and  find  out  if  it's  right." 

She  showed  it  to  George,  and  ten  minutes  after  her 
interview  she  was  standing  at  the  back  door  of  the 
Strong  mansion  waiting  to  see  the  man  who  made  her 
free. 

"What  is  it,  Dinah?"  he  asked. 

"Dis  heah  paper,  Geauge  says,  makes  me  a  free 
woman,  and  if  I  take  it  I'll  have  to  leave  the  country 
or  have  to  pay  yer  to  let  me  stay,  or  you'll  have  to  pay 
me,  or  like  dat.     Enny  way,  if  Mas'r  Strong  will  jes 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  23 

take  dis  heah  back,  and  jes  let  ole  Dinah  stay  in  de 
cabin,  den  Dinah  be  berry  much  'bleeged,  an'  Mas'r 
Strong  won't  never  want  for  fish,  if  dey  is  enny  in  de 
riber.  Ole  Dinah  got  rheumatiz,  can't  walk  away, 
'deed  I  can't;  besides,  I  neber  said  I  wanted  freedom, 
nohow,  'taint  no  good,  Geange  done  say  so,  and  says  I 
mus'  give  dis  back,  so  here  it  is." 

With  that  she  pushed  the  paper  into  Strong's  hands. 
He  assured  her  she  was  welcome  to  remain,  but  advised 
her  to  keep  the  paper.  This  she  positively  refused,  say- 
ing "Geauge"  told  her  not  to  "tech"  it.  It  was  not 
until  he  had  promised  to  keep  it  till  she  called  for  it, 
that  the  old  negress  showed  willingness  to  depart. 

This  was  about  the  experience  he  had  with  all  the 
slaves  that  remained  on  the  place.  In  spite  of  his 
efforts  to  free  them,  they  not  only  refused  to  be  free, 
but  begged  to  be  allowed  to  remain.  So,  in  spite  of 
his  principles,  he  was  still  the  master  of  ten  or  twelve 
helpless,  dependent  black  people. 

Between  old  Dinah  and  the  Strong  children  the 
warmest  and  tenderest  feeling  prevailed.  She  regarded 
Phoebe  as  little  less  than  an  angel,  and  for  the  boys, 
there  was  never  a  time,  if  called  upon,  that  she  would 
not  have  laid  down  her  life. 

It  was,  therefore,  no  sooner  learned  by  Dinah  that 
the  Strong  boys  were  at  Fredericksburg  than  she  ac- 
quainted "Geauge"  with  the  fact.  If  George  had  any 
ties  approaching  tenderness  other  than  those  for  Dinah 
and  her  coffee,  they  were  for  her  friends,  the  Strongs. 

When,  therefore,  Dinah  entrusted  him  with  a  bundle 


M  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

of  good  things  on  his  next  trip  down  the  river,  with 
strict  instructions  to  find  "dem  boys,"  and  give  them 
''Missy's  letters"  and  not  "cum  back  till  he  did," 
George  regarded  this  as  a  sacred  trust,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  he  would  have  performed  his  mission  had  the 
difficulty  and  danger  been  ten  times  as  great.  He  was 
now  due  at  the  Strong  ford  on  his  return,  indeed,  he 
was  expected  by  Dinah  by  "sun  up,"  but  she  had  been 
early  at  the  mansion  with  a  string  of  fresh  fish,  and 
had  apprised  the  expectant  Phoebe  that  "Geauge" 
had  not  "dun  showed  up."  About  ten  o'clock,  there- 
fore, not  hearing  from  Dinah,  Phoebe's  anxiety  and 
impatience  could  no  lohger  be  controlled.  She  donned 
the  costume,  heretofore  described,  and  started  for  the 
cabin  to  see  if  black  George  had  returned  with  letters 
of  love  from  her  brothers,  who  were  exposed  to  the  dan- 
gers of  war. 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST.  25 


CHAPTER  V. 

Though  the  war  had  already  lasted  two  years,  and 
the  country  around  was  full  of  arnaies,  and  within  a 
few  miles  of  where  she  now  stood  had  been  fought  a 
great  battle,  Phoebe  had  really  seen  but  few  soldiers, 
and  none  had  ever  molested  the  house  or  its  inmates. 
The  Strongs  had  been  appealed  to  but  little  either  by 
the  Confederates  or  the  Union  soldiers,  and  though,  in 
the  very  midst  of  war  and  battle  and  the  clash  of  arms, 
were  as  yet  comparative  strangers  to  their  awful 
ravages. 

Phoebe  had  proceeded  about  fifty  yards  along  the 
graveled  driveway,  intent  only  on  reaching  Dinah's 
cabin,  oblivious  to  her  surroundings,  and  so  preoccupied 
with  her  thoughts  that  she  failed  to  notice  the  big  gate 
ahead  had  swung  open,  and  a  company  of  Union 
soldiers,  carrying  a  flag,  were  marching  toward  her. 
They  had  now  approached  within  thirty  feet,  when  the 
tattoo  of  a  drum  aroused  her  to  a  sense  of  the  situation. 
She  was  face  to  face  with  the  color  bearer  of  the  com- 
pany, the  captain  and  the  beater  of  the  tattoo,  who, 
strange  to  relate,  was  a  boy  not  over  twelve  years  of 
age. 

Phoebe  gave  expression  to  an   "Oh,   my!"  stepped 


26  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

back  and  to  one  side.  The  captain  shouted,  "Halt! 
Salute!" 

Immediately  the  company  came  to  a  standstill. 
Every  cap  was  doffed,  every  form  inclined  to  the  beau- 
teous Phoebe,  and  every  hand  waved  a  respectful 
salute.  Phoebe  was  now  crimson  with  blushes,  which 
must  have  added  vastly  to  her  natural  beauty.  The 
captain,  cap  in  hand,  bowing  for  the  second  time,  ad- 
vanced a  step,  and  with  a  voice  about  as  sweet  as  any 
Phoebe  had  ever  heard,  said : 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  miss,  if  we  frightened  you. 
We  are  soldiers,  marching  since  morning,  thirsty, 
hungry,  weary.  Your  surroundings  tempted  us.  Your 
shade  trees  looked  so  inviting,  your  big  house  so  home- 
like, we  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  invade  your 
retreat,  and  ask  permission  to  at  least  quench  our 
thirst  and  rest  from  the  noonday  heat.  We  will  do 
you  no  harm,  and  will  cheerfully  pay  for  any  food  you 
may  be  pleased  to  part  with." 

Phoebe  was  at  first  disposed  to  be  frightened,  but  the 
captain's  manner  and  voice  so  reassured  her  that  she 
summed  up  courage  to  say : 

"My  brothers  are  all  soldiers  in  the  Union  army, 
and  if  you  gentlemen  are  really  Union  soldiers  (they 
were  so  covered  with  dust  that  they  looked  like  Con- 
federates), I  am  sure  my  father  will  be  delighted  to  ex- 
tend yoa  all  the  hospitality  in  his  power." 

Phoebe  felt  sure  they  were  Union  men,  but  the  color 
bearer  had  now  folded  his  flag,  and  the  captain's  regi- 
mentals looked  travel  stained.  He  assured  her  they 
were  soldiers,  good  and  true,  and  added: 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST.  27 

**My  name  is  Captain  Charles  Barr,  Company  K, 
Second  Delaware  Volunteers.  There  are  sixty-six  of 
us.  Our  division,  under  General  Howard,  passed  here 
this  morning"  (which  it  had,  unknown  to  any  one  at 
that  time).  "We  were  left  in  the  rear  to  guard  stores, 
and  blaze  part  of  the  line  of  march.  We  have  been 
delayed  by  Confederate  cavalry,  but  hope  to  reach 
our  division  before  night." 

Phoebe  led  the  way,  and  very  soon  the  entire  com- 
pany were  disposed  under  the  trees  on  that  part  of  the 
lawn  between  the  dairy  and  the  house.  Phineas  Strong 
appeared,  and  very  soon  after  the  entire  colored  force 
about  the  place  was  carrying  bread  and  ham  and  milk 
to  the  hungry.  rt| 

The  little  drummer  boy,  unobserved  by  the  others, 
had  made  his  way  to  the  porch,  and  was  now  stretched 
full  length  upon  the  boards,  sound  asleep. 

While  the  soldiers  ate  and  drank,  Phoebe  learned 
from  Captain  Barr  that  her  three  brothers  were  in  Gen- 
eral Howard's  division,  known  as  the  Eleventh  Corps, 
and  had  passed  within  two  miles  of  the  house  that  very 
morning;  that  the  Union  forces  under  General  Joseph 
E.  Hooker  were  concentrating  near  Chancellorsville ; 
that  already  a  large  army  was  in  the  rear  of  General 
Lee,  who  was  intrenched ,  near  Fredericksburg,  and 
that  a  great  battle  would  be  fought  before  many  days 
between  these  two  armies. 

The  soldiers  were  now  ready  to  depart,  and  to  the 
cry  of  "Fall  in!  fall  in!"  all  sprang  from  the  ground 
and  formed  in  line  four  abreast.     Captain   Barr  was 


J58  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

about  to  give  the  "Forward,  march,"  when  some  one 
called  out,  "Where's  our  drummer  boy?" 

"Where's  Robbie?"  asked  another. 

"Hold,  captain,"  said  the  sergeant,  "our  drummer 
boy  is  not  here." 

A  search  ensued  among  the  trees  and  under  the 
bushes,  but  the  litte  felllow  was  not  to  be  found.  The 
color  bearer  above  referred  to  was  of  all  the  most 
anxious,  and  began  a  loud  call  for  "Robbie,"  whose 
drum  he  had  found  near  the  base  of  the  sycamore.  At 
this  juncture  Phoebe  appealed  upon  the  scene,  leading 
Robbie  by  the  hand.  She  had  discovered  him  asleep 
and  refrained  from  waking  him  until  the  inquiry  had 
become  general.  She  was  now  brushing  his  brown 
curls  from  his  face,  and  having  arrived  at  the  van  of 
the  small  procession,  begged  the  captain  to  censure  her 
for  the  delay  and  forgive  the  little  fellow.  The  color 
bearer,  however,  seemed  disposed  to  scold,  and  bluntly 
told  Robbie  to  fall  in. 

The  boy  pulled  off  his  cap  as  he  attempted  to  adjust 
his  drum,  and  said : 

"Pap,  the  lady  was  kind  to  me;  see,  she  has  filled  my 
pockets  with  sandwiches  and  given  me  this  bottle  of 
milk." 

"This  is  my  pap,"  said  the  boy,  addressing  Phoebe. 

Phoebe  smiled :  the  color  bearer  doffed  his  cap,  and 
said: 

"Sergeant  Porter, — Benjamin  Porter,  of  the  Second 
Delaware.  This  is  my  boy,  Robbie — would  runaway — 
followed  me  to  the  war,  was  at  my  side  at  Fair  Oaks, 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  29 

Gaines'  Mill  and  Fredericksburg.  Won't  stay  in  the 
rear,  miss.  Can't  do  anything  with  him — broke  his 
mother's  heart,  I  guess.  I  wish  you  hadn't  found  him. 
He'll  be  killed  some  day." 

"Attention!"  shouted  Captain  Barr.  "Forward, 
march!" 

The  gallant  captain  drew  his  sword,  "waved  it  before 
him  in  the  sunlight,  turned  to  make  a  smiling  adieu  to 
the  Quakers;  the  fifer  played  "Yankee  Doodle,"  the 
boy  struck  the  drum,  the  color  bearer  waved  his  flag, 
and  the  little  band,  dusty  but  refreshed,  marched  gayly 
down  the  graveled  drive. 

For  some  reason  which  she  could  not  explain,  Phoebe 
strained  her  eyes  after  the  little  drummer  boy,  till  his 
form  was  lost  in  the  distance  and  had  disappeared  in 
the  shadows  of  the  tall  pines. 


30  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  last  sounds  of  the  departing  company  had  com- 
pletely died  away,  and  the  stillness  of  the  morning  had 
again  prevailed  when  Phoebe  turned  and  walked 
slowly  toward  the  house.  There  was  no  need  now  to 
go  to  Dinah's.  Black  George  could  come  and  go,  but 
in  the  absence  of  messages  from  her  brothers  he  had 
just  then  no  interest  for  her.  Her  mind  was  filled  with 
forebodings,  inspired,  no  doubt,  by  the  information  ob- 
tained from  the  soldiers.  Another  battle  I  three  brothers 
doomed  to  be  participants ;  one  already  a  victim ;  truly 
her  thoughts  were  not  calculated  to  induce  merriment. 

Phoebe  had  much  more  cause  for  congratulation  than 
sorrow.  Nevertheless,  her  heart  was  heavy  and  her 
meditations  in  complete  harmony. 

The  Civil  War,  to  her  mind,  no  matter  what  its  pur- 
pose, was  wrong.  If  it  had  for  its  object  the  freeing 
of  the  poor  slaves,  she  was  confident  that  they  were  in- 
sensible to  either  the  woes  of  slavery  or  the  benefits  of 
freedom.  If  its  purpose  was  to  preserve,  or  rather  to 
reunite,  the  Union  she  felt  quite  sure  so  far,  it  had  failed 
in  its  design.  My  readers  may  condemn  in  Phoebe 
this  apparent  lack  of  enthusiasm  for  a  cause  which, 
just  at  that  time,  was  occupying  the  entire  thought  of 
a  great  nation,  as  well  as  consuming  its  treasury. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO  ROOST.  31 

And  here  I  must  beg  the  reader's  pardon  for  a  few 
moments,  and  digress  in  the  advancement  of  my  story, 
to  observe  that  Phoebe  was,  after  all,  a  very  sensible 
girl.  Her  conclusions  as  to  the  war  were  certainly 
warranted  by  the  facts.  A  number  of  bloody  battles 
had  been  fought,  and  so  far  the  South  had  been  the  vic- 
tor, and  had  now  in  the  field  a  larger  and  better  army 
than  ever  before.  True,  Phoebe  had  lost  a  brother, 
but  one  hundred  thousand  other  brothers  were  already 
dead  upon  the  battlefield,  and  this  thought  heightened 
her  disdain  for  the  whole  scheme  of  warfare.  She 
wished  it  over,  that  her  brothers  might  be  home.  Had 
they  not  been  engaged,  Phoebe's  interest  in  the  great 
conflict  would  have  been  small.  As  it  was,  she  had 
kept  herself  thoroughly  posted  as  to  the  progress,  cam- 
paigns, and  battles  of  the  great  armies  in  Virginia. 
She  had  cried  with  humiliation  over  the  story  of  the 
first  battle  of  Bull  Run,  and  was  free  to  express  herself 
as  to  the  incompetency  of  General  McDowell  and  quick 
to  praise  the  intrepid  Jackson  and  the  gallant  Mc- 
Laws.  When  the  result  of  the  second  battle  at  the 
same  place  was  known,  she  was  also  loud  in  her  praise 
of  Longstreet  and  Johnston. 

Like  others,  Phoebe  knew  all  about  the  puerile  efforts 
of  McClellan  to  take  Richmond.  She  could  not  repress 
a  smile  when  the  efforts  of  some  of  his  admirers  to 
praise  his  retreat  as  a  masterly  military  movement,  un- 
exampled in  the  history  of  warfare,  ancient  or  modern, 
appeared  in  the  Northern  papers  which  found  their  way 
to  her  father's  house.     And  if  my  reader  will  again 


33  CHICKENS   COME    HOME   TO    ROOST. 

pardon  the  digression,  McClellan's  whole  campaign, 
had  it  not  been  so  sorrowful,  was,  in  the  light  of  all  the 
facts,  the  most  laughable  of  the  war. 

The  spectacle  of  a  great  army  of  one  hundred  thou- 
sand men,  fully  accoutered,  amply  provisioned  and  ap- 
pointed, with  thousands  of  cattle  and  endless  trains  of 
stores  and  ammunition,  retreating  before  an  army  of 
sixty  thousand,  not  half  as  well  equipped,  must,  to  a 
man  of  lively  imagination,  have  indeed  been  the  sub- 
ject of  congratulation  and  praise. 

Of  course  the  Union  forces  made  a  bold  stand  at  Mal- 
vern Hill,  but  this  was  a  position  of  great  natural  ad- 
vantage; and  because  Lee,  who  for  seven  days  had 
been  fighting  on  the  offensive,  and  had  driven  the 
Union  forces  from  six  battles,  with  less  than  fifty  thou- 
sand men,  failed  to  dislodge  an  army  of  eighty  thou- 
sand, we  are  told  this  fight  was  a  grand  national 
victory.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Union  army  had  re- 
treated as  far  as  it  could,  and  had  to  fight  the  battle  of 
Malvern  Hill,  or  fall  into  the  James  River  at  Harri- 
son's Landing. 

It  was  at  Malvern  Hill  that  the  Northern  soldiers 
did  the  fighting,  and  threatened  with  death  many 
a  cowardly  officer  if  he  dared  display  the  "white 
feather." 

McClellan  never  got  done  trying  to  explain  why  he 

did  not  take  Richmond ;  and,  why,  if  he  won  the  battle 
of  Malvern  Hill,  he  did  not  follow  Lee's  army,  and 
whip  it  two  or  three  more  times  the  next  day.  The 
gunboats  at  Harrison's  Landing,  under  whose  protect- 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  33 

ing  shelter  he  rested,  no  doubt  suggested  greater  mili- 
tary glory. 

The  glory  of  the  war  up  to  the  present  time  had  done 
much  to  bring  out  the  incompetency  of  the  Northern 
generals,  and  demonstrate  the  energy,  ability,  bravery 
and  certainty  of  the  Southern. 

Up  to  this  time  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  having  its 
commander  changed  after  every  battle,  had  met  only 
disaster,  defeat,  and  humiliation.  True,  Antietam  had 
been  fought,  and  because  its  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  soldiers  repelled  the  efforts  of  seventy  or 
eighty  thousand,  it  was  called  a  victory.  It  was,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  a  defeat,  as  was  Malvern  Hill,  as  was 
afterwards  Gettysburg. 

In  war  there  is  no  victory  that  accomplishes  nothing. 
For  McClellan  to  allow  Lee  to  escape  at  Antietam,  and 
for  Meade  to  suffer  the  same  thing  at  Gettysburg,  were 
exhibitions  of  incompetency,  as  well  as  confessions  of 
cowardice. 

Burnside  at  Fredericksburg  had  found  himself  at  the 
close  of  one  dull  day  in  December,  after  a  fearful  con- 
test with  that  peerless  genius,  Robert  E.  Lee,  very 
much  *'hors  de  combat,"  and,  of  course,  was  immedi- 
ately relieved  of  his  command.  These  were  some  of 
the  situations  that  now  presented  themselves  to  the  mind 
of  Phoebe.  It  is  not,  however,  my  purpose,  reader,  to 
write  a  criticism  upon  the  War  of  the  Rebellion.  This 
is  to  be  a  love  story,  the  heroine  already  known,  and 
the  hero  now  about  to  be  introduced. 


34  -^HICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  morning  of  May  1,  1863,  will  no  doubt  be  long 
remembered.  Men  —  brave  men  —  women  —  noble 
women  for  the  first  time  in  their  experiences  played 
grand  parts  in  the  drama  of  life.  To  loftier  pens  than 
mine  has  fallen  the  task  to  laud  the  few.  After  that 
and  the  three  succeeding  days  history's  page  was 
crowded  and  burnished  with  the  glorious  deeds  of  the 
fortunate  brave.  In  those  four  days,  between  Chancel- 
lorsville  and  Fredericksburg,  between  the  old  Inn  and 
Banks'  Ford,  back  in  the  woods  toward  the  Rapidan, 
and  along  and  across  the  old  plank  road,  and  up  and 
down  the  Orange  Turnpike,  two  hundred  thousand  men 
and  thirty  thousand  horses  fought,  were  fighting,  did 
fight,  the  greatest  battle  of  all  history.  This  battle  was 
fought  within  a  few  miles  of  the  scene  of  my  story,  and 
before  nine  o'clock  the  first  day  there  was  more  excite- 
ment in  the  Strong  home  than  there  had  been  in  the 
twenty  years  they  had  lived  there.  Here  was  war, 
murderous  war,  right  at  their  threshold.  This  alone 
was  sufficient  cause  for  concern,  but  to  their  dismay 
and  grief,  the  Strongs  had  to  endure  that  agony  and 
suspense  which  came  with  the  knowledge  that  three 
sons  and  brothers  were  exposed  to  the  dangers  of  battle. 
The  roar  of  artillery,  and  at  times  the  sound  of  small 


HE  TOOK  THE  COLORS   FROM    HIS   STRICKEN   FATHER. 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  35 

arms,  was  not  only  sufficient  to  keep  Phoebe  and  her 
mother  within  doors,  but  to  drive  all  the  servants  to  the 
woods;  not  all,  for  black  Dinah  remained  and  waited 
for  the  faithful  "Geauge." 

George  never  returned. 

Eeader,  I  did  not  witness  the  battle  of  Chancellofs- 
ville,  nor  did  I  see  Stonewall  Jackson  fall  from  his 
horse,  pierced  by  the  bullets  of  his  own  soldiers.  I  did 
not  see  General  Hooker  fall,  stunned  by  a  rifle  ball,  on 
the  porch  of  the  old  Chancellor  house.  In  fact,  I  saw 
none  of  these  things.  True,  I  have  walked  all  over  the 
battlefield,  and  imagined  that  at  this  point  my  father 
fell;  that  it  was  just  here  Edward  Strong  was  struck 
by  a  shell,  and  that,  as  he  fell,  his  brother  George 
sprang  forward  to  catch  him  in  his  arms,  and  received  in 
his  own  breast  a  charge  that  laid  the  two  brothers  side 
by  side.  It  was  here  that  Robbie  Porter  took  the  colors 
from  his  stricken  father,  and  held  them  aloft  until  he 
was  borne  from  the  field  by  main  force.  Perhaps,  at 
this  intrenchment  Phoebe's  brother  Ephraim,  a  little 
in  advance  of  his  brave  comrades,  was  made  a  prisoner. 
These  things  really  happened  in  this  battle,  but  with 
the  exception  of  Robbie  Porter's  startling  act,  I  could 
never  fix  the  exact  spot  where  the  events  occurred. 
Robbie  pointed  out  to  me  the  very  place  he  held  the 
national  colors  in  the  air  while  the  Confederates  riddled 
them  to  shreds  with  bullets.  This  battle  lasted  four 
days.  One  hundred  and  thirty-two  thousand  soldiers 
comprised  the  Union  army,  and  less  than  sixty  thou- 
sand the  Confederate.     Yet,  on  Tuesday  morning,  May 


36  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

5th,  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Potomac,  commanded  by 
that  grand  commander,  Joseph  Hooker,  was  diligently 
seeking  some  way  to  escape  from  Lee's  fighting  heroes. 

The  stragglers  and  deserters  were  fleeing  in  droves 
past  the  Strong  mansion  all  day  Tuesday,  and  from 
them  Phineas  Strong  learned  that  the  Union  army  was 
whipped,  and  a  general  retreat  would  take  place  that 
day,  or  in  the  evening.  Sure  enough,  a  division  of 
Sedgwick's  corps  crossed  the  river  just  below  old 
Dinah's  cabin,  and  before  dawn  of  the  6th  the  entire 
Union  forces  had  vanished  from  the  bloody  field  of 
Ohancellorsville,  leaving  more  than  twenty  thousand 
killed,  wounded  and  prisoners.  The  rain,  which  had 
set  in  the  evening  of  the  5th,  continued  most  of  the 
6th ;  yet  Phoebe  and  her  father,  mounted  on  horses,  ac- 
companied by  Dinah  on  foot,  and  two  or  three  faithful 
blacks,  were  early  on  their  way  to  the  scene  of  battle. 

To  get  through  the  lines,  be  allowed  to  look  for  his 
sons,  and  if  necessary  search  for  their  remains  on  the 
field,  to  penetrate  as  far  as  possible  within  the  Con- 
federate lines  without  attracting  attention,  Phineas 
Strong  and  his  little  party  proceeded  to  Ohancellorsville 
by  a  circuitous  route  through  the  woods  and  in  a  few 
hour,  drenched  to  the  skin,  covered  with  mud,  suddenly 
emerged  into  the  clearing  and  were  laboriously  pro- 
ceeding in  the  direction  of  the  Chancellor  house,  when 
they  were  just  as  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  dozen  Con- 
federate soldiers  and  commanded  to  "halt." 

The  spectacle  of  a  man  in  Quaker  dress,  a  pretty  girl, 
in  a  drab  riding  habit  and  a  silk  poke  bonnet  splashed 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  37 

with  red  clay,  spotted  with  rain,  and  three  or  four 
shrinking,  muddy,  barefooted  ''niggers,"  trembling 
in  the  background,  surprised  these  Confederates  far 
more  just  then  than  had  they  suddenly  beheld  Sedg- 
wick's entire  corps  before  them. 

A  drum  beat  an  alarm,  and  quicker  than  I  can  write 
it,  the  little  party  was  the  concern  of  the  entire  regi- 
ment. 

There  is  always  something,  however,  in  the  face  of 
a  good  and  pretty  woman  which  not  only  arrests  atten- 
tion, disarms  danger,  but  commands  homage.  Phboee's 
face,  therefore,  was  the  talisman  to  safety.  Nearly 
every  ragged  hat  was  already  doffed,  and  every  gun, 
before  raised,  now  yielded  to  the  command,  "Ground 
arms." 

To  Phineas  Strong,  an  officer,  evidently  a  captain, 
spoke : 

"Sir,  you  will  please  give  the  pass  word,  counter- 
sign, or  show  a  pass  to  proceed  within  our  lines,  other- 
wise we  cannot  suffer  you  to  continue." 

"Friend,"  said  Phineas,  "of  the  rules  of  war  and  its 
cruel  and  rigid  conditions  we  know  but  little.  We 
know  neither  signs  nor  pass  words.  We  have  no  pass. 
We  are  natives  here,  and  live  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  six  or  seven  miles  distant.  lam  Phineas  Strong. 
In  this  battle,  in  Howard's  or  Sedgwick's  corps  I  had 
three  sons — three  brave  sons,  so  brave,  friend,  that  I 
know  they  are  still  here.  I  and  my  daughter,  with 
our  servants,  but  ask  to  be  allowed  to  search  this  battle- 
field for  their  remains.      We  are  unarmed,  a  people  of 


38  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

peace.  For  more  than  two  years  I  have  fed  and  housed 
the  needy  of  both  armies.  From  the  battlefield  of  Bull 
Eun  I  have  already  borne  my  oldest  son,  and  he  lies 
buried  at  our  home.  To  take  to  their  waiting  mother 
the  other  three  is  our  only  purpose." 

There  was  so  much  frankness,  so  much  pathos  in  this 
that  nearly  all  who  heard  it  turned  aside  to  conceal 
their  emotion.  They  were  all  soldiers.  Soldiers  are 
brave,  and  brave  men  have  tender  hearts. 

"What  you  ask,  old  man,"  said  the  captain,  "is  im- 
possible. Besides,  Sedgwick's  corps  was  cut  to  pieces, 
and  most  of  his  dead  were  buried  two  days  ago.  The 
"wounded  have  all  been  taken  away " 

"And  the  prisoners?"  asked  Phineas. 

*'Gone  to  Richmond,"  said  the  captain. 

**Who  commands  thy   division  or  brigade?" 

** General  Lee,  Robert  E.  Lee." 

*'And  will  thee  not  permit  me  to  see  General  Lee?" 

"My  friend,  General  Lee  is  the  general-in-chief. 
He  would  not,  he  could  not,  see  you !  The  rules  of  war 
are  not  only  rigid  but  harsh.  Suspicion  attaches  to 
«very  one.  Caught  in  our  lines,  without  identification 
papers,  under  the  rules  of  war,  you  are  a  spy,  and  it 
becomes  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  you  not  only  cannot 
search  this  battleground  for  dead  Union  soldiers,  but 
you  cannot  leave  it  unless  you  satisfy  us  that  you  are 
what  you  claim.  Personally,  as  a  man,  I  believe 
«very  word  you  say.  As  a  soldier,  I  doubt  all;  and  as 
a  military  necessity,  I  must  order  you  to  dismount,  and 
accompany  me  to  headquarters." 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  3^ 

"Friend,"  said  Phineas,  *'thy  face  indicates  a  good 
heart,  and  thy  words  are  the  harshness  of  military  life. 
Thou  mayest  request  me  to  dismount,  but  Phineas 
Strong  takes  orders  from  no  man!"  With  this  remark 
he  sat  upright  in  his  saddle. 

Phoebe,  giving  a  supplicating  glance  to  those 
around,  urged  her  horse  forward  to  his  side,  and  whis- 
pered something  in  an  undertone.  At  which  the  old 
gentleman  proceeded  to  alight,  and  handing  his  reins  ta 
a  servant,  he  signified  his  willingness  to  accompany 
the  captain.  Leaving  PhcBbe  to  the  mercy  of  her  cap- 
tors, Phineas,  the  captain,  and  a  small  detachment  of 
soldiers  proceeded  to  the  tent  of  General  A.  P.  Hill. 

That  gentleman,  upon  hearing  the  captain  first,  and 
the  Quaker  next,  promptly  ordered  Phineas  to  the  guard- 
house, and  going  himself  to  gaze  upon  the  young  lady, 
immediately  provided  her  with  a  bodyguard,  and 
directed  that  she  and  her  servants  be  conducted  to 
River  View,  promising  at  the  same  time  that  her  father 
should  be  liberated  and  returned  in  safety,  before  sun- 
set, provided  his  soldiers  reported  his  story  true. 

With  a  heavier  heart  than  ever,  and  with  her  lus- 
trous eyes  swimming  in  tears,  Phoebe  was  compelled 
to  return  home  without  news  of  her  brothers  and  with 
sad  news  to  her  waiting,  watching  mother. 


40  CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  party  had  proceeded  without  incident  by  the 
regular  road  to  within  a  mile  of  their  destination, 
when,  without  warning  or  expectation,  they  came  to  a 
standstill.  The  cause  of  the  interruption  was  a  small 
boy,  bareheaded,  coatless,  with  ragged  shirt,  mud-and- 
blood  bespattered  trousers,  shattered  shoes  and  a  face  as 
white  as  a  sheet.  He  was  standing  by  the  roadside, 
sobbing,  and  trying  to  talk  at  the  same  time. 

Phoebe,  who,  during  the  entire  march  was  so  com- 
pletely absorbed  in  her  own  griefs  as  to  be  almost  ob- 
livious to  everything,  now  raised  her  head,  and  looked 
toward  the  sobbing  picture  of  wretchedness  in  the  road- 
way. In  the  pale  face  and  matted  hair  she  recognized 
the  drummer  boy  of  Company  K,  Second  Delaware, 
who  had  so  interested  her  a  few  days  before.  In  an  in- 
stant she  was  by  his  side.  AW  the  tenderness  of  an 
affectionate  heart  immediately  found  expression  in  her 
face,  and  was  reflected  in  her  voice.  She  was  alive 
with  sympathy,  and  quickly  assured  her  escort  that  the 
little  fellow  was  her  friend.  She  inquired  the  cause  of 
his  grief,  and  between  his  sobs,  learned  that  his  father 
was  fatally  wounded,  that  he  himself  had  carried  the 
colors  until  they  were  shot  from  his  hands;  that  after 
the  retreat  was  ordered  he  had   gone  in  search  of  his 


THE    DRUMMER-BOY    OF    CHANCELLORSV ILLE. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  41 

father,  that  he  had  at  last  found  him,  deserted  and 
alone,  left  for  dead;  that  in  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  his  father,  weak  and  dying,  with  his  assistance, 
had  walked  and  crawled  to  this  point;  that  about  an 
hour  before  he  had  died,  and  his  body,  covered  with 
wet  leaves,  with  his  knapsack  still  under  his  head,  was 
now  lying  a  few  paces  distant. 

The  little  fellow  begged  the  soldiers  to  assist  him  in 
the  burial  of  the  body,  and  promised  to  allow  them  to 
make  him  a  prisoner  of  war  as  a  consideration. 

Phoebe  bade  Dinah  and  another  servant  go  with  the 
boy  and  bring  to  the  roadside  the  corpse  of  his  father. 

They  found  the  dead  soldier,  Robbie's  coat  spread 
over  his  face,  and  bore  it  tenderly  to  the  presence  of 
their  mistress.  Robbie  followed,  carrying  his  father's 
knapsack  upon  his  shoulders,  and  his  belt  and  pistol  on 
his  arm.  In  the  presence  of  the  dead,  sympathy  and 
awe  are  the  strongest  sensations. 

A  rough  bier  was  soon  prepared,  and  at  Phoebe's 
direction  the  whole  party,  the  drummer  boy,  and  the 
dead  soldier,  were  soon  before  the  white  walls  and 
green  lawn  of  River  View. 

Rachel  Strong  was  wearily  waiting  their  arrival. 
Her  heart  sank  when  she  saw  the  bier — they  brought 
Robbie  home  that  way — and  sank  lower  when  she 
failed  to  recognize  the  tall  form  of  her  husband. 
Phoebe  almost  fell  into  the  good  woman's  arms,  and 
wet,  bedraggled,  weeping,  sobbed  out  in  gulps  and  jerks 
the  melancholy  incidents  that  had  befallen  their  trip. 

The  rain  was  falling  fast,  and  the  dark  clouds  sailing 


42  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

to  the  west  promised  no  immediate  indication  of  sun- 
shine. The  rain,  in  Virginia,  however,  on  the  sixth  of 
May  is  warm,  and  when  it  falls  the  young  corn  swells 
and  erects  its  expanding  blades  and  graceful  shoots,  with 
vigor  and  with  pride. 

To  bury  the  heroic  color  bearer  was  the  first  concern 
of  these  two  estimable  and  tender  women.  A  grave 
■was  therefore  prepared  in  the  little  burying  ground, 
and  to  it  the  soldier  was  carried.  A  rude  pine  box, 
made  hastily  by  one  of  the  colored  help,  was  his  coflSn. 
The  mourners  were  Robbie,  Rachel  and  Phoebe  Strong. 

This  done,  the  soldiers,  who  had  assisted  in  every 
possible  way,  and  satisfied  that  the  prisoner  held  by 
General  Hill  was  an  innocent  and  harmless  Quaker, 
took  their  departure,  promising  that  he  should  be  dis- 
charged at  once. 

The  clouds  parted  in  the  afternoon,  the  sun  came  out, 
and  at  the  same  time  Phineas  Strong  rode  into  his  own 
dooryard.  He  commended  Phoebe  for  her  conduct 
toward  the  dead  soldier  and  his  brave  son.  He  asked 
to  see  the  little  fellow,  and  was  shown  into  the  big 
parlor,  where,  curled  up  on  the  sofa,  covered  with  a 
shawl  Phoebe  had  thrown  over  him,  reposed  the  boy. 
He  looked  into  the  face  of  the  sleeping  child  with  an 
expression  very  much  like  tenderness  and  admiration. 

"Poor  child,  poor  child;  another  orphan,  the  heritage 
of  this  dreadful  war.  Some  mother's  heart  is  breaking 
for  him.  Phoebe,  some  wife's  heart  will  break  when 
she  reads  the  list  of  the  missing!  What  did  thee  say 
his  name  is?" 


t 
CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  43 

*'Eobbie  Porter,"  said  Phoebe. 

"And  his  father's?'' 

*'BeDJamin  Porter,"  she  replied, 

"Benjamin  Porter,"  repeated  Phineas.  "Why, 
Phcebe,  that  is  the  nanae  on  the  stone  above  our  door!' 

"Yes,"  said  Phoebe,  "and  it  seems  strange,  after  ,• 
century,  another  Benjamin  should  come  here  to   hv 
buried  in  our  little  graveyard." 

"Well!  well,"  said  Phineas,  "and  was  he  a  young 
man?" 

"Forty,  at  least,"  said  Phoebe. 

"And  the  boy,"  he  said,  turning  away,  "how  old  ia 
he?" 

"He  said  he  was  twelve  last  October." 

"And  did  he  tell  thee  how  in  the  world  he  got  in  the 
army?" 

"He  said,"  continued  Phcebe,  "that  he  ran  away 
from  home  two  years  ago,  in  order  to  be  with  his 
father.  That  he  has  been  in  many  battles,  and  has 
heard  from  home  but  seldom.  That  his  mother,  he 
thinks,  lives  in  Philadelphia,  and  that  he  has  one  sister 
somev/hat  older.  He  loved  his  father  dearly  and  cried 
himself  sick  when  we  buried  him." 

"To-morrow,"  said  Phineas,  "we  will  start  him  on 
his  way  home." 

The  sun  went  down  and  Eobbie  slept,  and  when  it 
arose  the  next  day  he  was  still  sleeping.  The  battle  of 
Chancellorsville  had  kept  him  awake  too  long,  and  its 
terrible  privations  had  brought  complete  exhaustion  to 
this  little  hero  of  my  story.  -- 


44  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

But  all  sleeps  come  to  an  end ;  it  is  said  that  even 
the  sleep  of  death  ends  in  a  glorious  awakening.  Rol> 
bie's  was  the  sleep  of  life,  and  before  its  conclusion  the 
natural  vigor  of  a  healthy  boyhood  had  returned,  and 
was  expressed  in  his  cheeks.  The  rain-matted  hair 
dried,  and  his  brown  locks  curled  gracefully  around 
his  forehead.  A  soft  step  in  the  room  awoke  him. 
Phcebe  opened  one  of  the  window  blinds,  and  as  she 
turned  toward  the  couch,  a  flood  of  rare,  warm  sun- 
shine followed  and  fondly  enveloped  her  form. 

Kobbie  opened  his  eyes.  At  first  they  blinked  a 
little,  but  finally  got  completely  opened,  and  immedi- 
ately became  fastened  upon  Phoebe's. 

I  cannot  now  explain  why  it  was  that  Phoebe's  color 
heightened  just  a  trifle  at  this  frank,  boyish  gaze,  but 
it  did.  That  a  brown-eyed  woman  of  twenty  should 
blush  because  a  blue-eyed  boy  of  thirteen  gave  her  an 
ardent  and  admiring  gaze  may  appear  to  the  reader  as 
bordering  too  much  upon  the  realm  of  fiction.  It  is  a 
fact,  nevertheless,  and  I  want  the  reader  to  know  now 
that  I  do  not  propose  to  tell  anjrthing  but  the  facts  in 
my  story.  At  the  time,  perhaps,  neither  Phoebe,  cer- 
tainly not  Robbie,  thought  anything  of  this  incident.  In 
after  years  both  of  them  thought  of  it — ah,  yes,  and  un- 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  45 

derstood  it,  too.  But,  now — here  was  a  refined,  deli- 
cate, beautiful  woman,  with  a  heart  overflowing  with 
tenderness,  good  to  this  homeless,  fatherless  boy  just 
because — because,  well,  because  his  situation  perhaps 
appealed  to  her.  And  here  was  a  wild,  untamed,  dar- 
ing boy,  a  lawless  product  of  a  great  city,  already  be- 
yond parental  restraint,  already  a  wanderer,  dirty, 
ragged,  and,  from  his  talk,  completely  illiterate,  the 
associate  of  rough,  reckless  men,  indifferent  to  blood 
and  death,  and  as  familiar  with  gun  and  sword  as  most 
boys  are  with  tops  and  marbles^ 

For  more  than  two  years  this  little  fellow  had  not 
slept  in  a  bed  or  eaten  at  a  table.  For  more  than  two 
years  he  had  worn  the  few  clothes  he  had  on,  day  and 
night  continually.  For  more  than  two  years  he  had, 
in  spite  of  orders,  been  sneaking  in  battles  bj"  the  side 
of  his  father,  and  had  never  ceased  to  hope  that  some 
day  he  would  have  an  opportunity  to  kill  a  ''rebel." 
For  more  than  two  years  his  had  been  the  companion- 
ship of  men  who  drank,  swore,  chewed  tobacco,  played 
cards,  told  vulgar  stories  around  the  camp  fires,  or  re- 
lated their  personal  unlawful  experiences  with  confid- 
ing females  of  good  character  and  distrusting  ones  of 
bad.  Among  these  men  Eobbie  v/as  a  general  favorite, 
and  more  than  a  thousand  arms  were  ready  to  bear  him 
safely  from  the  battlefields  when  danger  threatened. 
The  reader  can  readily  see  the  boy's  environment  was 
not  conducive  to  saintly  qualities.  In  a  year  he  had 
scarcely  seen  a  woman,  and  in  the  presence  of  one  like 
Phoebe,  who  was  nov/  so  near  him  that  his  hand,  lying 


46  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

over  the  edge  of  the  sofa,  touched  her  dress,  he  felt 
more  awe  than  he  ever  felt  in  the  presence  of  a  cannon. 
To  him  Phoebe  was  already  more  than  a  woman.  She 
was  an  angel.     Mentally  this  point  was  settled. 

In  his  short  life,  with  his  experiences  of  the  world 
and  with  all  the  various  sensations  he  had  known,  that 
which  pervaded,  his  mind  and  reached  from  the  ends  of 
his  toes  to  the  roots  of  his  hair  now  was  different  from 
them  all.  One  thing  he  felt  and  knew,  that  he  would 
like  to  be  this  woman's  slave;  like  to  be  near  enough 
to  always  touch  the  hem  of  her  dress  and  look  into 
those  wondrous  eyes.  When  she  passed  her  hand  over 
his  forehead,  pushed  the  curls  out  of  his  eyes,  and 
asked,  "How's  my  little  drummer  boy  to-day?"  Robbie 
knew  he  had  just  experienced  the  happiest  moment  of 
his  life.  He  sat  bolt  upright,  gazed  intently  at  Phoebe 
a  moment,  then  said ; 

"If  this  ain't  a  dream,  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life." 

"This  is  not  a  dream,"  said  Phoebe.  "I  wish  part  cf 
it  was  a  dream,"  and  a  sigh  escaped  her  as  she  thought 
of  the  absent  brothers. 

"Has  the  army  stopped  runnin'  yet?"  asked  Robbie. 

"Yes;  and  what  a  terrible  battle  it  was.  Oh,  I 
hope  this  will  end  the  war.  I  know  my  brothers  are 
dead,"  and  Phoebe  began  to  cry  in  spite  of  herself. 

To  see  this  divine  creature  shed  tears  like  other  mor- 
tals, while  it  touched  Robbie's  heart,  nevertheless  did 
much  to  assure  him  that  she  was  flesh  and  blood  and 
an  inhabitant  of  this  earth  after  all.  He  supressed  his 
Gvra  emotions  and  said : 


CHICKENS   COML   HOME   TO   ROOST.  47 

"The  war  won't  end,  miss,  till  every  slave  is  free; 
till  every  rebel  is  dead  or  surrenders." 

"Thee  must  not  call  me  'miss.'  " 

"No?"  said  Robbie. 

"No,  my  name  is  Phoebe.  Thee  must  call  me 
Phoebe,  and  I  will  call  thee  Robert.  We  use  the  plain 
language  here.  Mj  father  is  Phineas  Strong;  my 
mother  is  Rachel." 

"You'se  must  be  Philadelphi  Quakers,  "  said  the 
boy. 

"We  are  Virginia  Quakers.  I  have  always  lived 
here." 

"Wish  I  could  live  in  a  place  like  this.  I'd  be  a 
Quaker,  too!"  he  replied,  looking  around  the  room. 

"Where  is  thy  home?'' 

"Home!"  The  boy  actually  sneered  it.  "I  have  no 
home.  Don't  think  I  ever  had  a  real  home.  Pap  and 
mam  didn't  get  along  good.  We  never  had  nothin' 
like  that  "(pointing  to  the  honeysuckle  through  the  wm- 
dow);'' no  birds  ever  sung,  no  flowers  ever  bloomed 
"where  I  lived." 

"And  what  will  become  of  thee  now?" 

"If  1  could  get  a  bite  to  eat,  miss — Phoebe,  I  mean — 
I'll  try  and  find  the  army,  beg  Captain  Barr  to  let  me 
follow  the  regiment,  get  a  new  drum,  and  be  in  the 
front  of  the  next  battle.  Do  you  know  that  Saturday 
morning,  just  before  pap  was  hit,  my  drum  was  nearly 
full  of  bullets  Oh!  ain't  them  rebs  dandy  fighters i 
every  fight  I  ve  been  in  we  ve  got  the  worst  of  it.  I 
don't  say  this  because  you'se  is  a  rebel,  but  Gen'r'l  Lee 


48  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

can  just  about  make  a  monkey  out  of  any  general  we've 
got.  Pap  says  there  is  only  one  general  in  the  Union 
army  who  can  do  these  people,  and  before  the  war  is 
over  he'll  be  the  head  of  the  whole  thing.  He  says 
somebody  ought  to  tell  Mr.  Lincoln." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"I  think  pap  said  Grant — yes,  Grant's  his  name. 
Pap  says  he  can't  be  whipped  by  nobody.  Oh,  I'd  like  to 
fight  with  a  gen'r'l  who  wouldn't  be  all  the  time  ridin' 
along  the  lines,  saying:  'Fall  back,  boys,  fall  back!* 
Why,  before  the  battle  of  Malvern  Plill  we  was  all 
runnin'  like  sheep,  and  Hooker,  fighting  Joe,  they 
called  him,  came  along  on  a  big  black  horse — it  was 
awful  hot— and  says :  'Throw  away  your  haversacks, 
boys,'  and  'way  went  the  haversacks.  Purty  soon  he 
comes  ridin'  back,  past  me,  and  says,  'Let  go  your 
knapsacks,  boys!  throw  down  them  colors!  drop  that 
drum,  boy,  and  run  faster,  or  you'll  never  see  your 
mother  again!' 

"Then  'way  went  the  knapsacks  and  down  went  the 
colors,  but  I  kept  my  drum,  and  carried  it  all  day  in 
the  battle  of  Malvern  Hill,  though  a  piece  of  shell  cut 
the  straps  clean  through,  and  I  fell  over  it  twice  before 
I  could  get  up  again.  Pap  tho't  I  was  a  goner;  told 
me  to  go  to  the  rear  an'  get  under  a  wagon,  or  he'd 
knock  my  head  off  with  the  flagstaff.  But  the  fightiu' 
then  was  just  too  beautiful,  an'  I  says,  'Knock  away, 
dad,'  but  pap  didn't  knock,  so  I  stayed.  We  held  our 
line  all  day,  with  nothin'  to  eat,  and  nearly  dyin'  with 
thirst,   and   the   gen'r'ls  would  gallop  along  an'  say: 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  49 

^ Here  they  come,  now  steady,  boys,  steady!'  and  then 
■'fire!'  Then  the  smoke  would  go  up,  and  you'd  see  the 
Johnnies  tumblin'  down  the  hill.  I  reckon  I  saw  three 
thousand  dead  and  dyin'  soldiers  that  day!" 

"Horrible!"  said  Phcebe.  "I  hope  thee  will  never 
fight  again !  Doesn't  thee  know  that  it  is  wrong  to 
fight?" 

"Not  in  a  war?" 

"Yes,  in  a  war." 

"Pap  said  it  was  glory." 

"Thy  father's  glory  led  him  to  the  grave." 

At  this  remark  Robbie's  throat  choked  up,  his  eyes 
filled,  and  he  burst  into  tears,  realizing  for  the  first 
time,  perhaps,  since  the  awful  tragedy  which  deprived 
him  of  a  father,  the  loneliness  and  significance  of  his 
situation.  Phoebe's  heart  was  doubly  touched.  She 
put  her  arm  around  this  dirty,  forlorn  little  hero,  and 
allowed  him  to  cry  on  her  bosom,  as  he  might  have 
done  upon  the  breast  of  a  mother  or  a  sister. 

In  this  position,  half-supporting,  and  comforting  him 
with  gentle  words,  she  led  him  trom  the  room.  With 
her  own  hands  she  wiped  the  tears  away,  brushed  and 
arranged  his  curls,  and  when  he  was  seated  at  the 
breakfast  table,  good,  kind  Rachel  Strong  put  her  arms 
about  his  soiled  and  brown  neck,  and  said 

"I  had  a  little  boy  name  Robbie,  but  he  went  to  the 
war,  and  now " 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  seemg  which  both  Robbie 
and  Phoebe  began  to  cry.  They  were  discovered  in 
this  situation  by  Phineas  Strong,  as  he  entered  the  room. 


50  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

''There,  there,  there,"  he  said,  tenderly  takinf7  his 
•wife  and  daughter  in  his  big,  strong  arms,  "we  must 
not  give  way  so.  We  must  be  brave,  and  try  to  com- 
fort those  whose  misfortunes  are  greater  than  our  own. 
My  little  man,"  turning  to  Robbie,  "I  suppose  thee 
would  like  to  go  home  to  thy  mother.  Well,  tell  me 
where  she  is  and  I  will  contrive  some  way  to  get  thee 
to  her;  and,  mother,  see  if  thee  can't  get  some  better 
clothes  for  him  to  wear." 

"If  you  will  tell  me  where  the  army  is,"  said  Eob- 
bie,  "I  will  go  there.  I  do  not  want  to  go  home,  nor 
do  I  want  to  see  my  mother.  Besides  I  don't  know 
where  she  is,  and  if  I  did  I  wouldn't  tell!" 

"Why,  thou  art  a  wicked  lad,  I  am  afraid.  Not 
want  to  see  thy  mother;  want  to  run  away  and  follow 
the  army.  Child,  thee  needs  some  one  to  look  after 
thee!"  said  Phineas. 

"The  boys,"  answered  Robbie,  "they'll  look  after 
me.  If  I  can  find  the  regiment  I  am  all  right.  Just 
let  me  leave  my  father's  knapsack  here;  its  full  of  his 
letters  and  pictures.  When  the  war  is  over  I'll  be  a 
general,  an'  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  ride  up  to  your 
house  some  day  and  ask  for  my  father's  things,  and 
take  them  up  North  with  me." 

"My  son,"  said  Phineas,  "there  are  plenty  in  the 
war  without  thee,  and  if  thou  wilt  not  return  home,  let 
me  urge  thee  to  remain  with  us  until  thee  thinks  better 
of  my  suggestion." 

Phineas  Strong  was  a  student  of  human  nature.  Ho 
read  Robbie's  disposition,  reader,  like  you  would  read 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  51 

a  book.  In  his  broad  face  and  blue  eyes  be  saw  frank- 
ness and  courage,  and  in  his  square  chin  and  in  his 
mouth  he  read  a  firmness  like  a  rock;  and  while  he 
felt  like  designating  Robbie  as  a  willful  and  obstinate 
boy,  he  inwardly  knew  that  to  this  child  whatever  he 
commanded,  or  did,  would  be  regarded  with  the  most 
independent  indifference.  He  might  have  kicked  this 
helpless,  homeless  wanderer  into  the  big  road,  and  left 
him  to  the  mercies  of  the  war,  only  his  own  heart  was 
as  tender  as  a  woman's  and  this  looked  to  him  more 
like  a  case  where  sympathy  would  accomplish  more 
than  censure.  His  kindly  invitation  to  remain  was 
what  Robbie  most  desired,  and  least  expected.  How  it 
was  received  was  immer  lately  expressed  and  communi- 
cated to  all  by  the  radiance  that  lighted  up  his  face 

"Oh,  sir!"  he  exclaimed,  "can  I  really  stay  here? 
Will  you— let  me — let  me  work  for  you?  Why,  sir,  I 
will  be  your  slave,  and  do  all  you  bid  mo. " 

Phineas  had  judged  rightly ;  these  few  words  of  con- 
fidence and  kindness  had  won  the  boy  completely.  Be- 
tween these  two,  the  old  Quaker  and  the  army  arab» 
there  instantly  sprang  up  an  esteem,  each  for  the  other, 
that  lasted  through  all  time. 

As  for  Phoebe,  though  she  could  not  tell  why  a  feed- 
ing of  the  sweetest  satisfaction  stole  over  her  as  she 
kissed  her  father  and  said  : 

"Thee  is  always  right  and  always  good." 

This,  reader,  is  the  introduction  to  my  scenes,  and 
to  you,  the  hero  of  my  story.  Pardon  prolixity,  but  all 
I  have  written  seems  necessarily  a  part  of  my  tale. 


Sa  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Trifling  incidents  alter  the  whole  current  of  onr 
lives.  Phineas  Strong's  kind  words  w^ere  the  begin- 
ning of  a  metamorphosis  in  the  character  of  Robbie  Por- 
ter. In  three  days  his  was  a  different  personage. 
Under  the  influence  of  kindness,  refinement,  flowers, 
books,  and  the  interest  Phoebe  took  in  him,  he  Jaad  be- 
come a  bright  and  happy  boy. 

As  my  story  in  the  future  is  about  these  two  people, 
I  will  pass  over  the  sorrowful  details  attending  the  dis- 
covery of  Phineas  Strong  that  all  of  his  boys  were 
killed  outright  in  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville,  and 
that  he  was  never  able  tc  recover  their  remains.  That 
black  George,  it  was  learned,  lost  his  life  trying  to 
deliver  his  messages  to  the  Strong  boys  at  Falmouth, 
and  that  a  settled  sorrow  for  many  days  thereafter  like 
a.  dark  shadow  hung  around  River  View.  But  as  the 
deepest  grief  is  often  the  least  conspicuous,  the  woe  of 
the  Strongs,  in  a  community  where  woe  had  already 
filled  every  household,  was  not  marked  by  many  open 
expressions  of  sympathy.  The  fact  that  the  Strong 
boys  had  lost  their  lives  fighting  against  the  South 
was  really  a  cause  for  withholding  much  that  might 
otherwise  have  been  given. 

The  Strongs  were  socially  an  isolated  family.     They 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  53 

were  regarded  as  a  trifle  peculiar.  Few  people  came  to 
the  house,  and  Phoebe,  although  the  prettiest,  smartest, 
and  I  have  no  doubt,  the  best  girl  at  that  time  in  that 
part  of  Virginia,  had  no  girl  confidante  and  no  lover. 
She  was  now  past  twenty,  and  living  in  a  community 
where  many  a  girl  of  fourteen  had  half  a  dozen  gallants 
at  church  or  party.  Of  course  all  the  young  men 
were  off  to  the  war^  and  had  been  for  two  years,  so  that 
this  may  have,  in  a  measure,  accounted  for  Phoebe's 
lack  of  sweethearts.  Yet,  reader,  I  doubt  very  much, 
though  the  whole  neighborhood  had  swarmed  with 
handsome  Southern  boys,  brave  enough  to  face  the 
cannon's  moTith,  there  would  be  found  one  suf- 
ficiently bold  to  address  this  charming  girl.  Just 
why  this  was  so  I  will  not  now  stop  to  explain,  for, 
reader,  thou  canst  see  already  she  had  a  beautiful  face, 
a  pleasing  person,  a  tender  heart,  a  most  agreeable 
disposition,  a  bright  and  proper  mind,  and  would,  at 
some  time,  come  into  a  large  fortuna  It  would  seem 
that  at  least  a  dozen  cavaliers  should  nightly  tie  their 
foaming  chargers  to  her  father's  gate  posts.  But  none 
came  a-wooing,  and  now  that  the  war  would  un- 
doubtedly kill  the  handsomest  and  the  bravest,  Phoebe's 
matrimonial  chancps  were  improving  about  as  rapidly 
as  the  Southern  Confederacy  was  declining. 

Between  you  and  me,  reader,  I  do  not  think  Phoebe 
ever  troubled  herself  very  much  about  the  peculiar  con- 
ditions which  surrounded  her.  At  the  opening  of  my 
story  she  seemed,  so  far  as  Cupid's  arts  prevailed,  heart 
whole  and  fancy  free,  and  having  never  had  or  lost  a 


54  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

lover,  never  sighed  for  one.  She  was  therefore  happy 
— that  is,  as  happy  as  a  good,  pure,  innocent  girl,  in 
the  bloom  of  health  and  flash  of  womanhood,  whose 
every  temporal  want  is  supplied,  and  whose  knowledge 
of  the  world  is  limited  to  its  goodness,  could  possibly  be. 
Thus  far  her  life  had  been  without  incident  or  acci- 
dent. She  had  been  educated  at  home,  had  never  been 
further  away  than  Fredericksburg,  and  never,  to  her 
knowledge,  had  seen  a  steamboat,  or  ridden  in  a  railway 
coach.  She  rode  a  horse,  however,  my  fair  reader, 
much  more  gracefully  than  you  ride  "a  wheel,"  and  I 
have  no  doubt  she  would  have  been  inexpressibly 
shocked  had  she  thought,  in  doing  so,  it  was  necessary 
to  display  the  symmetry  of  her  legs  so  as  to  excite  the 
envy  of  other  horsewomen.  She  had  never  seen  a  piano 
or  witnessed  a  theatrical  performance.  She  was  in- 
deed a  combination  of  ignorance  and  innocence,  the 
types  of  which  have  long  since  vanished  from  the 
earth.  Her  knowledge  of  books  was  limited  to  "Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,"  "Isaac  Tatum  Hopper,"  "The  Pil- 
grim's Progress,"  "Queechie"  and  "Jane  Eyre." 
The  only  newspapers  at  which  she  ever  looked  were 
The  Friends^  Jfitelligencer,  and  the  New  York 
Tribune.  She  seldom  ever  read  either  of  them.  But, 
reader,  she  could  make  the  sweetest  butter  that  ever 
came  from  cream,  and  the  lightest  rolls  and  biscuits  to 
go  with  it  that  ever  came  from  oven.  She  could  also 
crochet,  spin  flax,  and  knit  socks  and  mittens.  With 
the  needle  she  was  quite  an  artist,  and  had  filled  the 
house  with  fancy  work.     Her  gowns  and  bonnets  were 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  65 

her  own  handiwork,  but  as  they  always  conformed  to 
the  styles  affected  by  the  religious  sect  to  which  she 
belonged,  she  had  little  opportunity  in  this  respect  to 
display  any  variety  in  taste. 

The  striking  quality  about  the  Strongs  was  industry, 
and  while  there  was  always  a  dozen  or  more  black 
people  about,  Phineas  Strong  gave  his  personal  atten- 
tion to  all  of  the  outside  labor,  while  Phoebe  and  her 
mother  found  in  the  house  ample  opportunities  to  dis- 
play and  practice  those  domestic  arts  which  made  this 
home  the  most  comfortable  and  attractive  in  all  the 
country. 

The  smoke  house  was  always  full  of  sweet  hams; 
rows  of  jars,  filled  with  preserved  fruits  adorned  many 
long  shelves.  The  attic  was  always  stuffed  with  herbs, 
such  as  sage,  old  man,  thyme,  mint,  snakeroot,  mul- 
berry leaves,  hops,  walnuts,  hickory  nuts,  chestnuts, 
fihellbark,  chincapins,  dried  fruits  and  flaxseed.  The 
hand  of  plenty  in  this  house  was  forever  open,  and  this 
suggestion  came  to  you  first  on  sitting  down  in  the  spa- 
cious dining  room.  All  of  this  was  such  a  striking 
contrast  to  Robbie's  former  life,  he  a  long  while 
doubted  its  reality,  and  expected  every  morning  to 
wake  up  and  find  himself  sheltered  by  a  dirty  canvas 
tent,  or,  perhaps,  completely  exposed  to  the  stars  of 
heaven  and  the  damp  dews  of  the  night. 

He  had  been  here  a  week  now,  and  had  not  heard  an 
oath  or  a  cross  word ;  he  had  been  in  the  army  two 
years  and  heard  nothing  else.  Everybody  was  kind. 
There  was  not  a  whip  or  rod  on  the  entire  estate.     He 


;56  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

learned  that  even  the  cattle  and  horses  were  never 
whipped.  At  house  or  barn  the  doors  were  never 
locked,  day  or  night,  and  often  not  even  closed.  Money 
was  allowed  to  be  exposed  to  the  view  of  all,  and  was 
apparently  regarded  with  less  care  than  any  other  arti- 
cle of  value  in  the  house.  At  night  there  was  no  lock- 
ing of  drawers,  no  bolting  of  doors,  no  fastening  of 
windows.  The  family  retired  to  rest  with  a  feeling  of 
confidence  tbat  could  never  have  been  the  product  of 
anything  but  virtue  and  serenity. 

Robbie  was  something  of  a  philosopher,  and  in  a  lit- 
tle while  adapted  himself  to  the  situation.  His  <lis- 
position  being  naturally  a  genial  one,  and  his  temper 
obliging,  it  was  not  long  before  he  was  a  general 
favorite  with  the  whole  household.  He  was,  in  fact,  a 
brave  and  generous  little  man.  He  was  deeply  grate- 
ful, and  consequently  always  willing.  He  soon  became 
such  a  necessity  that  his  departure  was  no  longer  talked 
about,  and  as  he  continued  in  his  refusal  to  disclose  his 
mother's  address,  the  subject  at  last  became  too  remote 
for  casual  revival.  Robbie  Porter  was  a  fixture  in  the 
Strong  household.  He  was  treated  like  a  son  and  a 
brother.  His  ragged  regimentals,  with  his  father's 
old  pistol  and  his  knapsack,  had  been  consigned  to  the 
attic  along  with  last  year's  herbs  and  seeds;  and,  lam 
sorry  to  write  it,  the  memories  of  both  were  fast  fading 
from  his  mind. 

The  griefs  of  the  young  are  short  lived,  and  his  new 
life,  tender,  solicitous  surroundings,  gradually  but 
surely  dissipated  the  recollections  of  his  former  miser- 
able experiences  and  bloody  exhibitions. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  67 

I  have  ever  been  of  the  opinion  that  a  proper  influ- 
ence, either  in  man,  vroman,  or  child,  in  plant  or  animal 
life,  will  develop  the  better  qualities  of  all.  A  more 
marked  illustration  of  this  truth  could  not  be  cited  than 
in  the  case  of  my  hero.  His  good  qualities,  heretofore 
stunted  or  dormant,  began  to  expand,  and  were  soon 
thoroughly  apparent  to  his  benefactors.  Bravery, 

frankness,  generosity,  and  a  highly  receptive  mind,  it 
was  soon  seen  he  possessed  to  a  marked  degree.  These 
qualities,  in  the  minds  of  the  Strongs,  were  essentials. 
In  a  few  months  they  and  the  servants  all  wondered 
how  it  was  they  ever  got  along  without  Robbie  Porter. 


58  CHICKENS   COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


'  CHAPTER  XI. 

Toward  our  little  waif  of  the  war,  Phoebe  began 
immediately  to  display  the  tender  affection  of  a  sister 
and  exercise  the  solicitude  of  a  mother.  To  her  ho  had 
already  become  the  bravest  and  brightest  little  char- 
acter of  which  she  had  ever  heard.  In  fiction,  she 
thought,  had  she  ever  had  the  opportunity  to  ramble 
in  its  charming  realms,  there  might  have  been  such  a 
personage  as  our  hero,  but  certainly  not  in  real  life. 
From  his  stories  of  battle  experiences  Phoebe  was  con- 
vinced that  her  protege  possessed  a  physical  courage 
that  amounted  to  absolute  fearlessness.  This  quality 
will  win  a  man  homage  in  camp  or  court,  and  to  the 
female  mind  is  the  most  potent  charm  the  opposite  sex 
can  possess.  It  was  not  then  very  surprising,  that  my 
backwoods,  country -born  heroine  formed  for  Robbie  an 
admiration  which  she  seemed  proud  not  to  conceal. 

In  a  hundred  little  waj^s  Phoebe  made  manifest  to 
all  her  affection.  She  deemed  it  her  especial  business 
to  look  after  his  wardrobe.  She  purchased  his  hats, 
his  shoes,  made  his  shirts,  his  coats,  his  trousers,  knit 
his  socks  and  mittens,  brushed  or  combed  his  hair  in  the 
morning;  lighted  him  to  bed  at  night,  tucked  him  in.  as 
a  mother  would,  and  kissed  him  good -night  as  freelj^ 
and  unreservedly  as  a  sister.     Once  a  week,  seventh 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  59 

day  evenings,  in  the  summer  she  sent  him  to  the  river 
with  soap  and  towels,  with  positive  instructions  to 
bathe  all  over,  and,  if  when  he  returned,  she  found 
after  inspection  he  bad  missed  his  ears,  or  a  part  of  his 
neck,  as  a  boy  sometimes  will,  she  took  cloth  and  soap 
and  completed  the  ablutions. 

She  brought  forth  from  the  attic,  all  of  her  brothers' 
school  books,  and  a  few  miscellaneous  volumes,  which 
included  "The  Boy's  Book  of  Adventures,"  Gold- 
smith's "Animated  Nature,"  Irving's  "Life  of  Wash- 
ington," Goodrich's  "History  of  the  United  States," 
and  two  venerable  volumes  of  "Shakespeare,"  edited  by 
Johnson.  These  were  all  at  Eobbie's  disposal,  and  all 
of  his  spare  time,  aside  from  his  daily  tasks,  was  spent 
in  their  perusal. 

Phoebe  tried  constantly  to  stimulate  him  to  study, 
and  assigned  him  lessons  which  he  recited  to  her 
nightly.  His  readings  and  studies  soon  made  mani- 
fest a  quality  heretofore  unnoticed.  This  Avas  a  prodi- 
gious memory.  It  was  apparent  that  study  was  a  mere 
pastime;  that  he  had  only  to  glance  at  a  page  in  a 
book  and  then  repeat  it  word  for  word.  He  could  read 
fifteen  or  twenty  pages  of  his  history,  close  the  volume, 
or  allow  Phoebe  to  hold  it,  and  repeat  it  without  a 
single  mistake.  It  was  but  a  little  while  before  he  had 
read  every  book  in  the  house,  and  knew  their  contents 
by  heart.  The  plays  of  "Shakespeare"  and  their  char- 
acters he  had  at  his  tongue's  end,  and  was  continually 
repeating  passages  and  even  pages  from  them. 

Just  what   impression  the  scenes  in  "Juliet"   and 


60  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

some  of  the  lines  in  "Venns  and  Adonis,"  and  the 
"Eape  of  Lucrece"  had  upon  the  mind  of  a  boy  of 
thirteen  I  will  not  pretend  to  say,  but  Robbie  mentally 
sometimes  wished  that  he  was  back  in  the  army,  that 
he  might  tell  the  boys  all  about  them. 

In  justice  to  the  Strongs,  however,  especially  to 
Phoebe  and  her  mother,  they  had  no  more  idea  of  the 
contents  of  some  of  these  volumes  than  they  had  of  the 
Talmud.  Their  tastes  being  exclusively  directed  to 
those  domestic  duties  which  are  the  charm  and  virtue 
of  the  good  housewife,  books  and  their  contents  were 
regarded  as  frivolous.  Of  the  great  world  of  letters 
these  good  people  had  no  conception.  "Knowledge  to 
their  eyes  her  ample  page  rich  with  the  spoils  of  time 
did  ne'er  unroll,"  and  to  get  the  gooseberry  jam  just 
right  was  of  more  consequence  to  them  than  a  whole 
page  of  poetry,  with  a  recitation  of  which  Robbie  would 
sometimes  try  to  entertain  them. 

To  his  reading,  therefore,  the  boy  was  left  without 
guidance  or  direction,  and  had  he  found  in  the  house 
Fielding,  Rabelais,  Byron  or  Morted' Arthur  he  would 
have  perused  them  without  restraint.  Of  the  advance- 
ment of  her  pupil, Phoebe  was  immensely  proud.  His 
feats  of  memory  astonished  and  delighted  her.  She 
encouraged  him  in  every  possible  way  to  read  and 
study;  ransacked  the  house  for  books  for  him;  and  one 
day  from  some  mysterious  and  remote  corner  of  that 
old  attic  brought  forth  Harkness'  first  Latin  book,  a 
Latin  grammar,  a  Latin  reader,  a  Latin  dictionary, 
Caesar's  Commentaries,  a  copy  of  Sallust's  "  Jugurthine 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  61 

War,"  and  Virgil's  "  JEneid  "  Without  stopping  to  ex- 
amine them,  she  carried  them  all  to  Robbie,  and  de- 
lightedly laid  them  before  him.  Their  disappointment 
was  mutual  and  touching  when  an  extended  examina- 
tion disclosed  the  fact  that  not  one  sentence  in  any  of 
them  could  he  read. 

Of  all  of  these  little  kindnesses  Robbie  was  not  only 
sensible  but  deeply  grateful.  His  pride,  however,  was 
humiliated  at  the  thought  of  his  dependence.  In  return 
for  this  goodness  crowded  upon  him  there  was,  it 
seemed,  so  little  that  he  could  do.  To  work  each  day 
in  the  field  or  garden,  to  help  his  uncle  (for  so  he  called 
Phineas  Strong),  about  the  barns,  to  assist  Aunt  Rachel 
in  little  things  about  the  house,  and  to  help  Phoebe 
with  the  butter,  to  bring  in  the  eggs,  and  run  errands, 
were,  in  his  mind,  not  even  worthy  the  board  and 
clothes  he  received.  At  times  the  reflection  that  he 
was  a  child  of  charity  forced  itself  upon  him.  Yet,  he 
thought,  he  would  rather  be  a  slave  than  be  asked  to 
leave. 

For  Phoebe  he  had  conceived  an  affection,  which, 
though  he  realized  it  not  then,  was  destined  to  last 
forever.  In  her  presence  he  was  always  happy,  and  he 
never  left  her  side  without  emotions  of  regret,  and 
never  returned  to  her  presence  without  the  keenest  sen- 
sations of  joy.  Night  and  day,  in  his  work  in  the  field, 
in  his  dreams,  Phoebe's  face  was  before  him.  To  him 
there  was  but  one  beautiful  and  glorious  being  in  all 
the  world,  and  that  was  Phoebe.  His  devotion  to  her 
was  as  marked  as  it  was  constant.    Not  a  day  passed  but 


62  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

he  made  manifest  to  all  that  she  was  the  delight  of  his 
youthful  attention,  and  the  chief  object  of  his  boyish 
gallantry. 

If,  wandering  in  the  woods,  he  found  a  bunch  of  ber- 
ries redder  and  more  luscious  than  all  the  rest,  he  saved 
them  with  a  tender  and  jealous  care,  and  presented 
them  to  Phcebe.  If  upon  a  remote  and  perilous  limb 
of  the  ox-heart  cherry  tree  there  dangled  a  bunch  of 
fruit  more  solid  and  more  perfect  than  all  the  rest,  he 
valiantly  risked  his  life  that  he  might  pluck  and  lay  it 
in  Phoebe's  lap.  If  upon  the  Crawford  peach  tree 
there  hung  over  the  garden  wall  a  peach  riper  and 
rosier  than  the  others,  larger,  and  blushing  its  glory  in 
the  sun,  he  quickly  scaled  the  wall  and  stopped  nor 
stayed  not  till  that  same  peach  was  fondled  in  Phoebe's 
hand.  The  largest  and  reddest  apple  in  the  orchard 
found  its  way  to  Phcebe.  The  wild  flowers  of  the 
wood  and  the  cultivated  posies  of  the  garden  were 
always  in  Phoebe's  vases.  If  he  caught  a  fine  trout  in 
the  river,  he  carried  it  to  Phoebe;  if,  in  hunting  in 
the  wood  with  old  Sam,  the  colored  Nirarod  of  the 
place,  he  shot  a  squirrel  or  bird,  they  were  seen  to  be 
laid  at  Phoebe's  feet. 

If  Phoebe  rode  out  he  rode  by  her  side.  He  gallantly 
pushed  the  overhanging  branches  of  the  trees  from  her 
face,  and  quickly  refastened  her  saddle  girth  if  it 
parted.  He  was  quick  to  assist  her  to  alight,  and  dex- 
trous in  helping  her  to  remount.  He  could  take  her 
little  foot  in  his  hand  and  reseat  her  in  the  saddle  with 
the  certainty  and  grace  of  a  cavalier.     If  she  wished  to 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  63 

cross  the  river,  Robbie  rowed  the  boat,  and  sometimes, 
I  verily  believe,  be  wished  she  would  fall  overboard 
so  he  could  jump  in  and  rescue  her.  He  never  doubted 
for  a  moment  that  he  could  do  this,  although  Phoebe 
weighed  one  hundred  and  thirty  pounds.  He  would 
often  wish  something  would  happen  so  he  could  show 
her  how  grateful  he  was.  Often,  when  riding  with 
her  through  the  woods,  he  hoped  some  brute  of  a  soldier 
would  suddenly  appear  and  insult  her.  Then  he  would 
show  her  how  soon  he  would  kill  the  villain.  Indeed 
he  hoped  that  some  time  Phoebe  would  ask  him  to  cut 
out  his  heart;  he  had  resolved  to  show  her  how  very 
quickly  he  would  comply  with  her  request. 

But  none  of  these  things  ever  happened.  There  was 
much  of  sameness  in  the  lives  of  these  two  people.  The 
war  for  awhile  raged  around  them,  and  they  daily  met 
and  fed  weak  and  wandering  fugitives  of  both  armies. 
Nothing,  hoAvever,  molested  these  quiet  people.  The 
great  conflict  ended  very  much  as  Robbie  once  pre- 
dicted. That  combination  of  Napoleon  and  V/elling- 
ton,  Ulysses  S.  Grant,  succeeded  in  destroying  most  of 
the  Confederate  forces,  and  in  surrounding  the  balance, 
so  that  even  the  brilliant  resources  of  Lee  were  no 
longer  available.  The  war  ceased.  Virginia,  among 
the  last  to  secede,  was  among  the  first  to  return  to  the 
Union. 

From  the  standpoint  of  glory  the  war  was  a  grand 
success.  In  all  other  respects  it  was  a  miserable  and 
expensive  failure.  Perhaps  the  unprejudiced  student 
of  history  will  conclude,  as  I  have,  that  the  greater  glory 


64  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

was  with  the  South,  because  it  opposed  with  six  hun- 
dred thousand  soldiers  an  army  of  three  million. 
However,  had  the  war  never  cccurred  my  story  had 
never  been  written. 

Peace,  which  in  the  vicinity  of  Eiver  View  had 
reallj'  never  been  much  disturbed,  prevailed  in  all  the 
country.  The  vanquished,  such  as  were  yet  alive,  re- 
turned to  their  depleted  and  ruined  homes.  Most  of 
Phineas  Strong's  old  neighbors,  broken  in  hearts,  help- 
less, nearly  homeless,  came  back,  and  resignedly  tried 
to  make  the  best  of  the  situation. 

There  was  Colonel  Wren,  Captain  Edwards,  Major 
Fields,  "Cat"  Doggett,  Henry  Turner  and  others, 
whom  he  knew  as  good,  noble  men.  He  saw  them 
ride  away,  proud,  haughty,  rich,  flushed  with  health, 
and  buoyant  with  hope.  Many  of  them,  like  himself, 
bad  lost  sons,  but  all  had  lost  what  wealth  they  once 
possessed.  Most  of  these  men  were  now  old  and  gray, 
and  some  of  them  walked  home — that  is,  to  where 
home  once  was. 

None  of  these  men  had  been  long  from  the  last  battle- 
field before  they  were  visited  by  Phineas  Strong.  He 
did  not  go  to  gloat  over  their  failure.  No,  he  took  sad- 
dle bags  full  of  money,  and  to  each  one  said : 

"Friend,  thou  hast  suffered  many  hardships,  and  thy 
affairs  are  in  bad  shape.  I  have  brought  my  purse,  and 
such  sums  as  thou  needest  I  will  cheerfully  advance 
for  an  indefinite  time  without  interest."  And  to  each 
one  he  passed  the  saddle  bags. 

Henry  Fields  was  too  proud  to  accept.     "Cat"  Dog- 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  65 

gett,  who  had  not  a  hoof  on  his  farm,  said :  "You  can't, 
you  don't  mean  it!  Why,  sir,  we  killed  your  boys!  do 
you  know  that?" 

*'I  don't  think  thee  killed  them,  Cataline.  Besides, 
thee  has  a  wife  and  children  alive.  Thee  will  need 
money  to  help  thee  take  care  of  them.  If  thou  wilt  not 
take  the  money,  come  over  and  get  a  team  and  a  cow 
and  feed  for  tbem  till  thee  can  raise  a  crop." 

Doggett  took  the  old  man's  hands  in  his  own,  burst 
into  tears  and  said : 

"Sir,  we  can  never  forget  your  kindness.  You  have 
saved  me!" 

To  the  widow  Kemper,  whose  husband  had  been  killed 
at  Cold  Harbor,  J  nd  who  was  left  with  four  daughters, 
Phineas  sent  a  horse  and  one  of  his  hired  help^  and  food 
enough  to  supply  them  for  a  year. 

Most  of  Strong's  neighbors  availed  themselves  of  his 
kindness;  and  in  a  few  months  that  section  of  Virginia 
was  blooming  and  blossoming  as  though  the  ravages  of 
war  had  never  devastated  it. 

After  such  an  exhibition  of  generosity,  it  would  have 
been  a  cold  and  unfeeling  community  that  saw  noth- 
ing in  the  character  of  Phineas  Strong  to  admire.  In- 
deed, the  whole  neighborhood  softened  toward  him. 
His  eccentricities  were  forgotten,  and  his  virtues 
lauded  by  every  tongue.  Every  eye  regarded  him  with 
admiration,  and  every  hand  from  the  tiniest  babe  to  the 
venerable  veteran  was  inspired  to  applaud  his  name. 
The  social  barriers,  which  for  more  than  twenty  years 
had   grown   around   this  noble  family,  were  suddenly 


66  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

destroyed,  and  the  descendants  of  Lord  Fairfax  vied 
with  each  other  in  showering  attentions  and  homage 
upon  these  innocent  and  modest  objects  of  their  esteem. 

Of  all  the  young  ladies  in  the  neighborhood,  Miss 
Phoebe  was  now  allowed  by  all  the  men  to  be  the  most 
beautiful,  most  charming  and  most  modest,  and,  I  am 
happy  to  inform  my  readers,  in  most  cases,  their  wives 
and  daughters  assented. 

Robbie  was  now  fifteen.  In  two  years  he  had  grown 
taller  and  broader. 

As  the  escort  of  Phoebe  he  frequently  attended  the 
"husking  bees,"  "apple  parings,"  and  "choppings,"  or 
"log  rollings,"  that  furnished  the  chief  sources  of  social 
entertainment  at  that  time,  and  perhaps  do  yet.  At 
these  social  functions,  after  the  work  of  the  day  and  the 
feast  concluded,  a  violin  was  produced,  and  the  crowd 
of  harmless  boys  and  blushing  girls  "lead  up  the 
dance,"  till  the  "we  sma'  hours." 

Quakers  never  dance;  they  look  upon  the  art  with 
disfavor,  and  at  these  parties  our  pretty  Phoebe,  had 
she  been  contesting  for  high  social  recognition,  would 
have  entered  the  lists  somewhat  handicapped.  All  en- 
treaties, however,  to  get  her  to  participate  in  those  sim- 
ple evolutions  required  by  "Money  musk,"  and  "Vir- 
ginia reel"  failed.  Beautiful  and  blushing,  happy  and 
modest,  she  sat,  content  to  follow  Robbie's  form  around 
the  room  as  he  danced  his  feet  sore  with  some  giggling 
stripling  who  would  be  so  tickled  at  his  gallantry  that 
she  was  compelled  to  bite  her  lips  to  keep  from  explod- 
ing her  pride. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  67 

Having  participated  in  several  affairs  of  this  kind, 
Phoebe  had  prevailed  upon  her  naother  to  give  an 
"apple  paring."  To  it  were  invited  most  of  the  fami- 
lies v^ith  whom  the  Strongs  were  acquainted ;  and,  for- 
getting that  the  Strongs  were  Yankees,  nearly  every- 
body came.  The  apples  were  pared,  and  the  apple 
butter  stirred  a  little  by  everybody  present.  An  ample- 
feast  was  spread  and  destroyed,  when  Sam  Bunch, 
whose  reputation  with  the  fiddle  was  far  ahead  of  that 
of  Orpheus,  especially  in  Culpepper  County,  produced 
his  instrument  and  shouted  :  "All  take  your  places  for 
a  plain  quadrille!" 

Many  expected  Phineas  Strong  would  enter  a  protest. 
He  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  man's  natural  good- 
ness was  such  that  he  really  encouraged  them  to  pro- 
ceed. 

Robbie,  who  had  often  begged  Phoebe  to  try  a  danc© 
with  him,  finding  that  his  uncle  did  not  frown  upon  the 
proposed  entertainment,  hastened  to  her  side,  and, 
though  she  had  just  refused  Colonel  Wren,  the  hand- 
somest and  most  distinguished  guest  present,  sufi^ered 
Eobbie  to  lead  her  to  the  position  of  vis-a-vis  to  the 
first  couple.  Phoebe's  natural  grace  of  motion  carried 
her  not  only  successfully  but  admiringly  through  the 
entire  dance;  and  blushing  as  she  never  before  blushed 
in  her  whole  life,  at  its  conclusion,  clinging  to  Robbie's 
arm,  radiant  and  happy,  took  her  seat  and  soon  had 
twenty  offers  to  dance  the  next  "set." 

Now,  reader,  I  could  no  more  fathom  a  woman's, 
mind  than  I  could  calculate  an  eclipse.     Phoebe's  face 


68  CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

diffused  a  glory  that  only  the  happiest  heart  could  re- 
flect, yet — must  I  write  it? — she  persistently  refused  to 
dance  with  any  of  her  admirers.  Rohbie  had  whirled 
away  with  Dora  Kemper,  a  miss  of  fourteen,  with  a 
superb  little  form,  and  a  pair  of  black  eyes  that  were 
calculated  to  make  mischief  with  any  heart.  Whether 
Miss  Dora  squeezed  Robbie's  hand  in  the  grand 
* 'rights"  and  "lefts"  more  firmly  than  some  of  the 
others,  I  know  not;  but  whatever  the  reason,  it  will 
never  be  known,  so  let  us  be  content  with  the  fact 
that  Dora  and  Robbie  danced  oftener  together  than 
any  other  couple. 

Betty  Turner,  a  budding  blonde  of  sixteen,  who  could 
scarcely  keep  her  eyes  off  of  Robbie's  brown  curls,  was 
heard  to  remark  to  Ella  Wren:  "I  do  think  that  Dora 
Kemper  is  just  too  bold  for  anything!" 

At  which  the  simpering  Ella  simpered  more,  but  in 
the  least  possible  consoling  way  to  the  ruflBed  Betty. 

The  widow  Kemper,  with  her  four  daughters,  was 
present,  and  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  it 
was  time  to  depart,  it  was  found  all  had  secured  escorts 
but  Dora.  This,  accidentally,  of  course,  was  not  dis- 
covered by  the  fair  Dora  until  her  mother  and  sisters, 
with  their  escorts,  had  already  taken  their  departure. 
The  gallant  Robbie,  however,  seeing  in  this  a  fortuitous 
opportunity,  flew  to  the  rescue.  Without  so  much  as  a 
demur  he  obtained  from  the  little  designer  prompt  per- 
mission to  see  her  home.  His  heart  fairly  junaped  at 
the  prospect.  He  soon  had  Dora  behind  him  on  one  of 
his  uncle's  best  horses,  and,  prouder  than  he  was  the 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  69 

day  he  beat  a  tattoo  at  Malvern  Hill,  proceeded  four 
miles  through  a  dark  woods  to  deliver  his  lovely  charge 
into  the  arms  of  her  anxious  mother. 

Reader,  didst  ever  take  a  young  lady  behind  thee  on 
a  horse  through  a  dark  woods  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  from  a  country  dance?  If  thou  hast  never 
done  this,  then  thou  hast  lived  a  tame  and  tasteless 
life.  Joys,  pleasures,  delights,  sensations,  sweetnesses, 
all  different  from  anything  you  have  ever  known,  or 
will  know,  flood  you  during  that  experience.  How 
you  wish  the  evening  was  just  beginning,  that  the  road 
was  a  couple  of  hundred  miles  long,  and  that  the  dark- 
ness was  darker,  and — that  you  could  turn  around  with- 
out twisting  your  head  off — (the  inability  to  turn  around 
is  really  quite  a  drawback  to  the  complete  success  of  a 
ride  like  this).  In  this  particular  ride.  Miss  Dora,  who 
could  "set"  a  horse  as  easily  'as  most  girls  occupy  a 
chair,  and  far  more  gracefully,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  came  so  near  falling  off  that  she  really  was  com- 
pelled to  pass  her  arms  under  Robbie's  and  clasp  him 
firmly  about  the  waist. 

In  this  way,  and  in  this  way  alone,  was  she  able  to 
maintain  her  equilibrium.  Thus  the  pair  safely  arrived 
in  front  of  her  mother's  door,  where  the  fair  burden 
gracefully  slipped  to  the  horse  block.  What  these  two 
talked  during  the  ride,  the  bliss  of  which  I  doubt  if 
either  ever  forgot,  I  cannot  tell.  I  did  not  hear  it. 
Robbie  galloped  home,  and  walking  into  the  still 
lighted  dining  room,  was  somewhat  surprised  to  find 
Phoebe  waiting  for  him. 


70  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

If  my  readers  imagine  I  am  going  to  advance  any 
conclusions  as  to  this  interview  between  a  robust  lad  of 
fifteen  and  a  beautiful  girl  of  twenty-two,  alone,  in  a 
big  room,  of  a  big  house,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, they  will  be  mistaken.  I  conceive  it  the  duty  of 
an  historian  to  relate  facts,  and  to  the  imagination  of 
his  auditors  leave  the  task  of  philosophical  speculation. 
Therefore  I  propose  to  relate  this  little  scene  just  as  it 
occurred. 

Phoebe,  who  had  occupied  a  quaint,  rush-bottomed 
chair,  and  was  gazing,  rather  pensively  to  be  sure, 
upon  the  crackling  embers  of  a  fading  fire  on  the  hearth 
as  Robbie  entered,  suddenly  arose,  went  directly  to 
meet  him,  gave  him  a  most  tender  and  melting  glance, 
which  he  neither  understood  nor  appreciated,  and  tak- 
ing his  hand  in  one  of  hers  and  his  hat  in  the  other, 
said : 

*'Why,  Robbie,  thee  is  quite  a  gallant, "  And  without 
waiting  for  a  reply  continued:  *'Come,  sit  down  and 
tell  me  all  that  thee  and  Dora  talked  about  on  the  way 
home;"  and  she  led  him  to  the  little  rocker. 

Robbie  sat  down,  reached  over  for  the  bootjack  that 
reclined  against  the  chimney  jam,  and  proceeded  to 
pull  his  feet  out  of  his  top  boots. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  71 

**Thee  wants  to  tease  me.  Thee  doesn't  care  to 
know,"  said  Robbie. 

She  leaned  over  his  shoulder  behind,  brushed  her 
cheek  against  his,  swept  a  curl  from  his  forehead  with 
her  hand,  and  answered:  "I  sat  up  on  purpose  to  have 
thee  tell  me.  Please  tell  me  all  that  she  said  and  all 
that  thee  said." 

There  was  an  earnestness  in  her  tone  that  left  no 
doubt  in  Robbie's  mind  that  Phoebe  was  terribly  sin- 
cere. Her  right  to  puestion  him  he  never  doubted. 
He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  that  if  he  would  relate  the 
little  tete-a-tete  between  him  and  Dora  it  would  give 
Phoebe  pleasure,  and  if  he  ever  in  his  life  wanted  to 
confer  happiness  upon  any  human  being  it  was  upon 
Phoebe  Strong.  Without,  therefore,  the  remotest  idea 
of  any  purpose  other  than  delighting  her  he  said  : 

"Well,  Phoebe,  to  please  thee  and  amuse  thee,  I'll 
tell  thee  all  that  I  can  remember." 

"If  thee  tells  me  all  thee  can  remember,"  said 
Phoebe,  "thee  will  not  miss  much." 

"Well,"  said  Robbie. 

"Well,"  said  Phoebe. 

"Well,  let  me  see — well,  thee  knows  just  as  we  got 
through  the  gate  at  the  Ford  road,  she  came  near  fall- 
ing off,  and ^" 

"And  what?"  asked  Phcebe. 

"  Why,  well,  thee  knows  she  had  to  throw  her  arms 
around  me  to  save  herself." 

"And  did  she?" 

"Why,  of  course — and  then,  thee  knows  how  dark  it 


72  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

was — well,  when  Dora  had  recovered  her  balance  she 
said — said ' ' 

"Said  what?"  queried  Phoebe. 

"Why,  she  said  it  was  so  dark,  and  sne  was  so  little, 
she  reckoned  if  she  did  fall  off  I  couldn't  find  her,  so 
she  said  it  was  safer  maybe,  it  was  so  dark  for  her 
to— to " 

"To  what?" 

"To  hold  on  that  way  till  we  got  home." 

"The  bold  little  vixen,"  said  Phcsbe,  as  she  allowed 
her  arm  to  fall  fondly  about  Robbie's  shoulder. 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  thought,"  said  Robbie. 

"And  what  else  did  she  say?" 

"Oh,  she  chattered  right  along — did  most  of  the 
talking." 

"Tell  me  what  she  said!" 

"She  said  a  mighty  lot!" 

"What?" 

"Oh,  she  leaned  her  face  to  one  side  against  my 
shoulder,  and  said — said:  'It's  just  as  natural  for  boys 
and  girls  to  love  one  another  as  it  is  for  grown  people, 
d3n't  you  think  so,  Master  Porter?'  " 

"What  a  bold  little  girl,"  said  Phoebe. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Robbie,  "that's  what  I  thought." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  that's  about  all,  I  guess!" 

"Oh,  no,  it  isn't;  thee  must  have  said  something  to 
her!" 

"Well,  I  thought  I  did,  but  blessed  if  I  can  think 
now  what  I  did  say!" 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST  73 

"No?" 

"No!  but  she  said  I  should  come  over  Sunday— First 
day  evening — and  take  tea  with  her  ma." 

"With  her  mother?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  she  said,  but  she  said  she  would  be 
at  home  too,  and  'we  all'  would  have  a  nice  time." 

"The  little  designer,"  said  Phcebe,  as  she  disen- 
gaged her  arm.  "And  did  thee  tell  her  thee  would 
come?" 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  promised." 

"Promised?" 

"Yes,  she  made  me  promise  for  sure,  because  she 
said  it  would  be  very  disappointin'  and  annoyin'  to  her 
ma  if  I  didn't  come." 

Phcebe  took  the  candle  from  the  chimney  piece, 
snuffed  it,  looked  up  into  Robbie's  face;  he  was  stand- 
ing now,  and  taller  than  she,  and  said: 

"Robbie,  I  don't  think  father  would  like  thee  to  visit 
the  Kempers,  Promise  me  on  his  account  thee  will  not 
go  there  First  day  evening." 

This  was  a  great  thing  to  exact  of  Robbie,  because 
Dora  had  made  deep  inroads  into  his  heart  already  and 
he  had  pictured  that  coming  First  day  evening's  tea 
with  her  in  the  most  lively  colorings  a  bright  and  hope- 
ful imagination  could  portray. 

"Why,  if  thee  doesn't  want  me  to  go,  Phoebe,  of 
course,  thee  knows  I  wouldn't  think  of  it." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't,  because  there  are  better  families 
in  the  neighborhood  than  the  Kempers,  and  father — 
would  like  to  see  thee  associate  with  only  the  best." 


74  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

"All  right,"  said  Robbie,  "I  promise  thee  not  to  go." 
"Good-night,"  sbe  said,  handing  him  the  candle,  "I 
am  going  to  Fredericksburg  to-morrow,  and  if  thee  is 
up  in  time  I  will  get  father  to  let  thee  ride  with  me." 
With  that  she  disappeared  through  a  doorway,  forget- 
iiug,  as  usual,  perhaps,  to  kiss  her  protege,  as  she  had 
done  nightly  since  his  advent  into  the  house.  "Whether 
on  this  occasion  she  really  forgot,  I  know  not,  but  she 
never  renewed  the  custom. 

Phoebe,  having  retired  to  her  own  room,  and  Robbie 
to  his  in  the  attic,  and  it  being  now  nearly  daybreak, 
I  will  defer  till  another  time  detailing  the  reflections  of 
either  occasioned  by  the  scene  I  have  just  described. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  75 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  LATE  retiring  induces  a  late  arising.  Exhausted 
nature  required  of  Robbie  a  long  rest,  and  when  he 
awoke,  the  sun  was  already  past  the  meridian. 
Phoebe,  he  soon  learned,  had  hours  before  set  out  for 
Fredericksburg,  and  must  now  be  well  on  her  way 
toward  home.  He  was  proceeding  to  saddle  a  horse 
with  the  purpose  of  going  to  meet  her,  when  from  a  box 
stall  adjoining  where  he  stood  he  heard  Phineas  Strong 
say: 

"Sam,  thee  better  take  the  colt  and  kill  it,  too.  The 
poor  thing  will  be  better  off, ' ' 

To  scale  the  board  partition  that  divided  him  from 
the  voice  was  so  easy  that  in  an  instant  Robbie  stood  in 
the  box  stall  beside  his  uncle  and  in  the  midst  of  a  half- 
dozen  servants. 

A  look  showed  him  the  dead  and  mangled  body  of 
one  of  his  uncle's  finest  and  most  costly  brood  mares. 
The  poor  thing,  lacking  natural  force  necessary  to 
bring  her  offspring  into  the  world,  had  perished,  a  vic- 
tim to  the  surgeon's  knife,  and  her  helpless  little  baby, 
dragged  into  the  light,  lay  in  a  shapeless  mass  against 
her  upturned  flanks. 

"Please,  lincle,"  said  Robbie  piteously,  bending 
down  to  look  at  the  little  colt,  "please  don't  kill  it. 


76  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

Give  it  to  me.  Please,  uncle,  do.  I  will  take  care  of 
it.     Won't  thee,  Uncle  Phineas?" 

The  boy  Avas  kneeling  in  the  straw,  and  beseechingly 
looking  into  the  face  of  the  kind-hearted  Quaker. 

Phineas,  while  he  felt  it  would  have  been  a  humane 
act  to  allow  Sam  to  execute  his  order,  seeing  hovv 
earnest  Robbie  was,  and  loving  him  already  to  a  degree 
that  he  was  quite  unwilling  to  admit,  even  to  himself, 
said:  "Well,  Sam,  let  Robbie  have  the  colt;  but  hurry 
up  and  bury  the  mare." 

"Oh,  thank  thee,  uncle,  thank  thee;  and  it's  mine, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Phineas;  "but  thee  must  raise  it  thy- 
self." 

"Oh,  I'll  raise  it,"  said  Robbie,  as  he  proceeded  im- 
mediately to  wrap  it  in  a  blanket;  and  then,  before  any 
were  aware  of  his  purpose,  he  took  the  limp  and  almost 
inanimate  mass  in  his  arms,  and  bore  it  to  the  house, 
where,  without  leave  or  license,  he  deposited  it  on  the 
floor  in  front  of  that  same  fireplace  where  he  and 
Phoebe  had  talked  on  his  return  from  Dora  Kemper. 

Just  here  at  this  time  his  gratitude  for  the  kindness 
of  Phineas  Strong  prompted  him  to  make  a  mental  wis"h 
that  he  might  never  see  the  face  of  Dora  Kemper  again. 

When  Phoebe  entered  the  room  an  hour  later  she 
found  him  holding  the  colt's  head  in  his  lap,  and  feed- 
ing it  warm  milk  from  a  bottle. 

How  this  dumb,  motherless  thing  appealed  to  Rob- 
bie. Its  helpless  condition  awakened  all  of  the  tender 
impulses  of  his  warm  heart.     He  watched  over  it  with 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST.  77 

a  solicitude  as  touching  as  constant.  For  two  nights 
lie  slept  on  the  floor  by  its  side.  He  fed  it,  patted  it, 
groomed  it,  cleaned  it,  and  at  last  had  the  satisfaction 
and  joy  of  seeing  it  stand  upon  its  feet.  He  then  led  it 
forth  to  the  open  day,  and  even  the  November  sunbeams 
infused  it  with  energy  and  life. 

And  now  Robbie  owned  a  colt.  There  was  one  thing 
on  the  generous  earth  that  was  really  his;  his  because 
he  earned  it;  his  because  he  saved  it.  How  proud  to 
think  that  he  was  the  actual,  undisputed  possessor  of 
tbi~i  one  piece  of  property. 

The  complete  realization  of  this  great  fact  enabled 
him  within  a  week  after  the  event  to  examine  the  books 
Phoebe  had  brought  him  from  Fredericksburg.  Among 
them  were  the  then  complete  poems  of  Henry  W.  Long- 
fellow, Macaulay's  "History  of  England,"  and  "Nor- 
wood," a  novel  by  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  just  out,  all 
of  which  Robbie  eagerly  devoured. 

And  here,  perhaps  as  well  as  at  any  other  time,  I  will 
ask  the  reader's  pardon  for  failing  to  detail  Phoebe's 
reflections  on  the  morning  after  her  talk  with  Robbie 
about  Dora  Kemper.  Now  the  fact  is,  from  the  cir- 
cumstances I  could  only  conjecture  what  those  reflec- 
tions were.     Reader,  thou  canst  also  conjecture. 

Again  permit  me,  ere  I  conclude  this  chapter,  to  apol- 
ogize for  making  so  much  of  the  birth  of  a  colt.  But 
the  fact  is  the  colt  from  this  time,  and  for  a  considera- 
ble period,  becomes  one  of  the  most  important  person- 
ages of  my  story.  It  was  one  of  the  circumstances 
flung  around  the  life  of  Robert  Porter  which  changed 


13  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

its  whole  course,  and  in  the  end  separated  him  from,  and 
robbed  him  of,  the  only  being  in  his  life  that  filled  all 
the  interstices  of  his  heart  and  absorbed  all  of  his  gen- 
erous affection. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST.  79 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Reader,  didst  ever  upon  some  dumb  animal  lavish 
the  fond  and  unselfish  love  of  a  young  and  buoyant 
heart?  Didst  ever  with  thy  faithful  dog  share  the  last 
crust,  or  with  thy  noble  steed  on  the  tented  fiield  of  bat- 
tle divide  thy  hard-tack  and  thy  sugar?  If  not,  thou 
canst  not  conceive  the  affection  Robbie  formed  for  this 
ill-starred  colt.  She  (for  such  was  the  sex)  became  his 
daily  companion.  She  knew  his  voice,  and  whinnied 
her  joy  at  the  approach  of  his  form ;  and  Robbie,  bar- 
ring Phoebe,  of  course,  regarded  her  as  the  most  price- 
less object  in  the  universe. 

Somewhere  in  this  story  the  reader  will  remember 
Phoebe  had  resuscitated  from  the  gloom  of  the  garret 
some  Latin  volumes  formerly  belonging  to  her  dead 
brothers.  Having  read  and  re-read  every  book  in  the 
house  but  these,  Robbie  had,  at  Phoebe's  suggestion, 
undertaken  to  decipher  their  contents.  So  that,  when 
the  winter  had  passed,  he  was  already  through  the 
Latin  reader.  Thinking  the  "^neid"  more  to  his  taste 
than  the  war  in  Gaul,  he  boldly  started  with  "Arma 
"Virumque  cano,"  etc.,  and  soon  was  completely  carried 
away  by  the  charm  and  pathos  of  this  matchless  epic. 

The  interest  in  the  story  grew  so  absorbing  that  he 
found  its  reading  more  of  a  pleasure  than  a  task.     In 


80  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

the  stillness  of  the  night,  when  the  world  around  him 
slumbered,  diligently  he  dug  out  the  melancholy  story 
of  the  fall  of  Troy,  and  the  heart-touching  fate  of  the 
distracted  Dido.  Sweet  and  plaintive  drama!  It  ex- 
panded his  dawning  mind  and  swelled  his  awakening 
soul! 

With  what  tender  interest  had  he  followed  ^neas 
in  his  search  for  the  Golden  Apple;  and  with  what 
wide-eyed  wonder  had  he  gone  with  him  in  all  of  his 
weary  wanderings  through  the  realms  of  hell.  How, 
in  the  summer  evenings,  lulled  by  the  distant  murmurs 
of  the  rolling  river  and  fanned  by  those  perfumed  and 
gentle  breezes  that  exhale  the  aroma  of  the  pine,  and 
the  flavor  of  the  dogwood  blossom,  he  would  sit  down 
at  the  feet  of  Phoebe,  even  perhaps  as  Glaucus  reclined 
before  the  beauteous  lone,  and  tell  her  the  story  of  the 
noble  ^ueas  and  the  sad,  sad  death  of  his  unhappy 
mistress  of  Carthage. 

By  this  time  his  pet  colt  had  become  strong  and  grace- 
ful, but  of  such  a  nondescript  color  that  no  one  had  as 
yet  ever  seen  anything  like  it.  Her  legs  were  of  a  yel- 
lowish hue,  and  her  body  something  of  a  mouse  color, 
mixed  with  gray,  the  gray  hairs  being  apparently 
longer  than  the  others  and  covering  her  entire  body 
so  as  to  give  her  the  appearance  of  being  always  cov- 
ered with  frost  or  wet  with  dew.  However,  her  legs 
were  extremely  long,  her  body  slender  but  well  propor- 
tioned, and  her  large  head  always  in  the  air  when  she 
moved.  Her  gait  was  invariably  the  trot,  and  often 
when  Robbie  called  her  from  a  distance  she  trotted  to 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  81 

him  with  such  amazing  swiftness  that  she  seemed  to  f3y 
through  the  air  like  a  bird.  It  was  this  quality  and 
the  peculiar  color,  or  colors,  that  suggested  to  Robbie 
an  appropriate  name  for  his  pet,  as  he  had  heretofore 
called  her.  He  recalled  from  his  Virgil,  in  that  passage 
describing  the  death  of  the  despairing  Dido,  how  dewy 
Iris,  with  her  saffron-colored  wings,  drawing  a  thou- 
sand colors  from  the  opposite  sun,  flew  down  from 
heaven,  and  released  to  Pluto's  place  the  struggling 
soul  of  the  wretched  woman. 

So  he  said  to  Phoebe:  "I  will  name  her  Dewy  Iris. 
Her  saffron  legs  are  her  wings,  and  while  she  can't  fly 
down  from  heaven,  some  day  she'll  fly  up  from  earth, 
and  all  the  world  will  wonder!" 

So  this  colt  was  known  as  Dewy  Iris,  and  was 
afterward  registered  under  that  name  in  Wallace's 
Stud  Book,  where,  my  curious  reader,  if  you  have 
time  and  inclination,  you  may  investigate  the  record  of 
her  performances  on  the  turf,  without  waiting  to  dis- 
cover them  through  the  slow  process  of  my  tedious 
pages. 


82  CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

No  doubt,  reader,  yon  have  long  since  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  this  is  only  a  story  after  all.  That  there 
never  was  a  character  like  Phoebe  or  a  colt  like  Dewy 
Iris.  True  it  is  that  this  is  a  story,  but,  unlike  most 
stories,  is  true.  In  this  I  claim  a  great  difference  exists 
between  my  book  and  most  others.  It  is,  therefore,  my 
duty,  and  I  trust  your  pleasure,  that  I  proceed  as  rapidly 
as  good  taste  will  allow  to  relate,  clearly,  concisely  and 
correctly  what  further  befell  the  hero  and  heroine  of 
my  tale. 

I  propose,  however,  with  the  license  of  a  novelist, 
though  I  am  sure  the  public  will  acquit  me  of  the 
charge  of  being  one,  to  carry  my  reader  forward  at  least 
four  years,  or  until  about  the  first  of  November,  1869. 

I  have  two  very  cogent  reasons  for  this.  First,  the 
intervening  time  had  really,  by  fate  or  fortune,  been 
allowed  to  pass  without  other  than  the  commonplace 
incidents  liable  to  happen  to  people  living  in  affluence 
in  a  rich  and  rural  district.  Around  the  Strong  house- 
hold peace  and  plenty  still  extended  their  blessings. 
In  the  confidence  of  all  of  his  fellow-beings,  Phineas 
Strong  was  rounding  out  a  life  replete  with  goodness 
and  perfect  in  results.  His  good  wife,  Rachel,  calm, 
serene,  meek,  beaming  in  face  and  sweet  in  manner. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  83 

was  the  idol  of  young  and  old.  Phoebe,  now  nearly 
twenty-seven,  was  plumper  and  rosier,  too.  But,  fair 
lady  reader,  she  was  still  unmarried.  What  a  pity! 
Surely  all  the  single  men  in  the  counties  of  Culpepper, 
Stafford  and  Fauquier  were  blind. 

Robbie  was  taller,  broader  and  was  about  the  hand- 
somest young  man  of  nineteen  in  the  whole  country. 
He  was,  too,  according  to  all  the  yoimg  ladies,  the 
bravest  and  brightest. 

My  second  reason  is,  I  will  the  sooner  be  able  to  en- 
tertain my  readers  with  the  more  stirring  incidents  of 
my  narrative.  However,  despite  the  critics,  I  am 
going  to  tell  this  story  in  my  own  way,  and  just  as 
it  is. 

On  the  surface — that  is,  to  the  casual  observer — all 
was  fair  as  a  summer's  day  among  the  occupants  of 
River  View,  but  I  will  acquaint  you  now  with  the  fact 
that  there  were  two  members  of  this  household  that 
were  neither  perfectly  happy  nor  serenely  content. 
Phoebe,  ever  since  the  night  she  learned  Dora  Kemper 
had  hugged  Robbie  Porter  those  four  miles  through  the 
dark  woods,  had  discovered  an  attachment  for  her  pro- 
tege that  was  neither  sisterly  nor  motherly.  Dost 
think  it  strange  that  a  modest,  sensible,  properly  raised 
young  lady  of  twenty-seven,  a  demure  and  discreet 
Quakeress,  too,  should  be  desperately  in  love  with  a  lad 
of  nineteen?  If  thou  dost  think  it  strange,  thou  must 
then  confess  truth  stranger  than  fiction. 

Phcebe  had  half-suspected  it  before  the  incident  re- 
ferred to,  but  the  tugging  around  her  heart  when  Rob- 


84  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

bie  related  his  innocent  experience  confirmed  her  sus- 
picions completely. 

Reluctantly,  almost  shamefully,  she  confessed  to  her- 
self that  she  loved  this  boj''.  And  what  did  she  do? 
Did  she  tell  him?  No,  indeed!  She  set  diligently  to 
work  to  repress  her  feelings  and  conceal  her  love.  She 
buried  it  deep  down  in  her  heart,  but  her  natural  ten- 
derness would  resuscitate  it  daily,  call  it  back  to 
momentary  memories,  and  then  mercilessly  re-inter  it 
in  the  darkest  corner  of  that  organ,  where  she  fondly, 
and  in  truth,  concealed  it  from  every  eye  but  her  own. 
But  love,  like  a  budding  blossom,  will  sooner  or  later 
break  from  its  cerements,  and  spreading  into  perfect 
petals  and  beauteous  colorings  charm  some  nostril  with 
its  sweet  perfume. 

But  I  must  confess  that  I  am  now  unable  to  account 
for  the  fact  that  Kobbie  was  wholly  insensible,  appar- 
ently, to  the  beauty  and  flavor  of  this  rare  flower  that 
bloomed  continually  about  him.  True,  in  word  and 
action  Phoebe  completely  repressed  all  of  those  natural 
yearnings  and  impulses  of  her  heart,  but  in  a  thousand 
little  things,  in  ten  thousand  glowing  glances,  any  one 
not  deaf,  dumb  and  blind  would  have  discovered  that 
Robbie  Porter  was  this  woman's  idol. 

Her  training,  her  womanly  instincts,  the  traditions 
of  her  sex,  the  customs  of  her  country,  her  own  natural 
delicacy,  and  the  inborn  desire  of  every  girl  to  be  won 
and  wooed,  all  operated  as  powerful  agencies  to  impel 
the  continuation  of  her  attitude  toward  him.  Sweetly 
she  hoped  then,  and  painfully  she  doubted,  so  that  her 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  85 

passion  became  at  once  the  joy  of  her  days  and  the  sor- 
row of  her  silent  nights. 

I  said  that  Robbie  was  insensible  to  Phoebe's  charms. 
This  really  does  the  boy  an  injustice;  his  eyes  failed  to 
discover  the  condition  Phoebe  so  artfully  concealed. 
When  a  woman  wants  to  conceal  a  thing  she  can  de- 
ceive a  wily,  worldly  man,  much  more  easily  an  inno- 
cent, inexperienced  boy. 

But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Robbie  had  given  to  Phoebe 
the  first  time  he  saw  her  face  all  of  his  boyish,  ardent 
affection.  The  seven  years  he  had  associated  with 
her  had  really  intensified  his  passion.  Now,  nearly  a 
man,  he  knew  he  loved  her  as  never  man  loved  woman. 
There  was  no  sacrifice  he  would  not  have  made 
for  her.  He  would  have  been  glad  to  stem  the  swift- 
est current  to  save  her  life;  to  kill  the  man  who 
dared  insult  her;  to  give  his  heart's  blood,  if  drinking 
it  would  quench  her  thirst;  to  face  a  thousand  open 
cannons  or  breast  as  many  shining  sabers.  But,  Great 
God!  reader!  to  ask  her  to  marry  him,  to  tell  her  that 
he  loved  her,  were  things  from  the  contemplation  of 
doing  he  quailed  as  a  coward  on  the  eve  of  battle. 

Who  was  he,  from  whom  this  divine  and  perfect 
creature  should  condescend  to  receive  the  homage  of 
love?  Why,  he  knew  of  a  dozen  suitors  who  had  tried 
to  pay  their  addresses  to  her,  and  who  had  all  been 
coldly  and  finally  dismissed. 

"Noneof  them, "thought  Robbie,  "were  good  enough 
for  her!  and — well,  what  do  you  suppose  she  would 
say  to  me?    Laugh,  and  call  me  a  foolish  boy.     And 


86  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

then,"  he  thought,  "Uncle  Phineas  would  tell  me  to 
leave  the  place." 

And  this  is  just  exactly  what  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  do. 

To  him,  Phoebe  Strong  was  a  star,  shining  in  the 
heavens;  as  a  star  he  could  gaze  upon  her  there,  but  he 
could  never  reach  her.  He  would  go  forth,  conquer 
the  world,  build  a  Jacob's  Ladder,  ascend  to  that 
heaven  where  his  Phoebe  sparkled  in  her  scintillating 
sweetness,  pluck  from  its  orhit  this  beauteous,  burning 
diadem,  and  bear  it  with  him  to  earth  where  it  would 
be  a  lasting  light  in  his  life,  never  to  go  out,  till  his 
own  perished  in  eternal  gloom. 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  87 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Great  thought,  Robbie!  Noble  purpose!  And  I 
honor  you  for  them  both. 

But  you  big,  lubbering,  sentimental  clown,  don't 
you  know  that  your  brown  curls,  blue  eyes,  broad 
shoulders  and  brave  heart  had  made  an  impression  on 
Phoebe  Strong  that  neither  time  nor  sorrow  were  ever 
to  efface!  Don't  you  know  that  at  this  very  minute 
you  could  have  walked  over  to  her  side,  taken  her  in 
your  big,  strong  arms  and  said,  "Phoebe,  I  love  thee, 
God  knows  I  love  thee;  be  my  wife!"  That  she  would 
have  melted  on  your  bosom;  that  Phineas  Strong 
would  have  been  the  proudest  man  in  all  Virginia,  and 
would  have  made  you  his  heir  before  the  sun  went 
down  behind  the  woods ;  that  good  Aunt  Rachel  would 
have  wept  upon  your  vacant  shoulder,  and  blessed  you 
with  the  fervor  of  a  mother's  love.  You  did  not  know 
these  things,  did  you?  And  so,  hot-headed,  proud,  a 
dreamer,  you  proceeded  deliberately  to  make  a  fool  of 
yourself,  and  by  withdrawing  yourself  from  your  love, 
to  fondly  imagine  you  were  getting  nearer.  There- 
fore, on  this  particular  November  morning,  the  break- 
fast concluded,  Robbie  said : 

"Uncle  Phineas,  does  Dewy  Iris  belong  to  me?" 

"Why,  of  course;  why  does  thee  ask?" 


88  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

*'Well,  thee  knows  after  I  entered  her  in  the  Culpep- 
per Races  last  month  thee  forbade  me  to  trot  her, 
though  I  am  sure  I  could  have  taken  first  money  in  the 
2:30  class." 

"Well,  yes;  but  thee  knows  I  am  opposed  to  horse 
racing,  and  only  requested  thee  not  to  race.  Thee 
knows  I  offered  thee  the  two  hundred  dollars  thee  might 
have  won." 

"Well,"  said  Robbie,  evidently  unmindful  of  this 
noble  act  of  his  uncle,  "if  she  is  mine,  I  am  going 
to  ride  away  on  her  to-morrow  morning,  and  when  I 
come  back  I'll  be  a  great  man  and  have  a  dozen 
horses!" 

Everybody  rose  from  the  table,  and  Phoebe  disap- 
peared. Poor  Phoebe!  She  knew  Robbie's  character 
too  well  to  soothe  her  agitation  with  the  reflection  that 
this  was  a  joke.  Like  most  young  men  of  his  age, 
Robbie  was  very  "set"  in  his  determination  to  carry 
out  any  scheme  he  might  form.  He  had  read  enough, 
and  been  flattered  until  in  his  own  mind  he  krew  more 
than  all  of  those  about  him ;  and  Phoebe,  to  whom  fre- 
quently of  late  he  had  communicated  his  intention  to 
leave  the  country,  was  fully  satisfied  that  he  was  about 
to  put  his  purpose  into  execution. 

Phineas  Strong,  too,  was  well  aware  of  this  head- 
strong quality  in  Robbie's  character.  He  had  seen  it 
displayed  in  all  of  the  boy's  undertakings.  He  knew 
to  expostulate,  dissuade,  or  entreat  would  be  an  idle 
waste  of  words.  He  could  command  or  employ  physi- 
cal force,  but  he  knew  that  these,  in  the  end,  would  be 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  89 

not  only  unavailing,  but  would  stir  up  in  Robbie  a  bit- 
terness tbat  migbt  rupture  their  friendship.  His  own 
knowledge,  too,  of  the  world,  enabled  him  in  a  measure 
to  understand  and  appreciate  the  hoj^s  desire  to  go 
away  from  home.  He  had  done  the  same  thing  long 
before  he  was  nineteen.  Recovering,  therefore,  his 
usual  calm  exterior,  his  fairness  and  generosity 
prompted  him  thus: 

"Robert,  this  is  a  foolish  and  very  unnecessary  pur- 
pose. Thou  art,  I  see,  however,  fully  persuaded  to  de- 
part. May  thee  never  regret  it.  Consider  always  this 
as  thy  home,  and  return  freely  when  the  spirit  moves 
thee  so  to  do.  Dewy  Iris  is  thins  absolutely,  and 
here,"  taking  a  roll  of  bank  bills  from  a  large  red 
wallet,  "are  the  two  hundred  dollars  I  know  thee 
would  have  won  had  thee  driven  in  that  race." 

He  laid  the  money  on  the  table  and  started  from  the 
room.  Robbie  caught  his  hand,  and  choking  with  an 
emotion  he  never  before  felt,  said  :  "Uncle  Phineas,  thee 
is  the  best  man  that  ever  lived !" 

"Thou  hast  seen  but  few  men,"  was  Phineas'  reply, 
and  walked  away. 

Robbie  was  alone  with  his  roll  of  bills. 


90  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Gathering  the  scattered  notes  into  a  bunch,  Robbie 
placed  them  carefully  in  his  trousers'  pocket,  took  his 
hat,  and  straightway  proceeded  to  the  barn,  where,  to 
Dewy  Iris,  his  arms  about  her  neck,  he  communicated 
his  good  fortune  and  brilliant  prospects. 

"We'll  go  away  together,  won't  we,  old  girl?"  he 
said,  patting  her  affectionately.  "We'll  astonish  the 
world,  we  will !  We'll  win  in  a  race  in  a  2 :10  clip, 
won't  we?  Flora  Temple  will  take  a  back  seat  when  I 
get  you  on  the  turf,  and  I  reckon  old  Dexter  will  just 
lay  down  and  die  when  they  tell  him  about  you?" 
With  this  he  began  to  rub  her  coat  energetically  with  a 
brush. 

"You're  so  cussed  ugly,"  he  began  again,  "that 
nobody  will  ever  buy  you  until  you  do  something 
grand.  You'd  look  well  enough  if  you  didn't  have  yel- 
low legs,  and  that  frost-colored  hair!  I  think  I'll  dye 
you  when  I  get  you  up  North — oh,  yes,  you  needn't 
look  'round,  that's  where  I'm  going  to  take  you — ride 
you  all  the  way,  too,  maybe,  so  look  around  this  stable 
all  you  can  to-day,  because  before  sun-up  to-morrow 
you'll  be  leaving  it  forever.  I'm  sorry,  Dewy,  but 
I'm  going  to  use  you  to  make  my  fortune — sell  you, 
maybe,  but  I'll  have  to  do  it — have  to  part  with  you — 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  91 

but  you  needn't  look  mad;  I'll  get  you  a  good  master, 
and  I'll  warrant  he  keeps  you  like  a  lady,  in  a  grand 
stable.  Oh,  yes,  Robert  Bonner  will  buy  you  soon  as 
he  sees  you  move!  Yes,  and  j'-ou'll  get  into  splendid 
society.  Dewy,  if  you  are  ugly!  Oh,  Uncle  Phineas 
don't  know  your  gait  or  he'd  never  let  you  go.  But 
you're  mine!  Yes,  mine!  And  we  go  together,  re- 
member that!"  So  saying  he  threw  the  brush  into  a 
receptacle  in  the  stone  wall  of  the  stable  and  left  the 
mare  with  an  affectionate  "pat." 

To  Robbie,  Dewy  Iris  was  a  faithful  and  obedient 
subject.  To  all  others  she  was  a  willful  and  ungrate- 
ful vixen.  She  had  not,  with  the  exception  of  her 
young  master,  a  single  friend  on  the  place.  Even 
Phoebe,  whose  flower-like  nature  loved  nearly  every 
animal  on  the  farm,  had  for  Dewy  Iris  an  indiffer- 
ent, and  lately,  a  rapidly  waning,  affection.  No  one 
save  Robbie  could  with  any  certainty  ride  or  drive  her. 
True,  like  a  petted,  willful  girl  with  her  first  beau,  she 
would  gracefully  and  gayly  start  on  a  journey,  but  ere 
it  was  half -completed,  appear  to  pout,  deliberately  and 
perversely  stop;  and,  though  her  burden  be  even  the 
lovely  Phoebe,  proceed  in  the  most  unconventional 
and  ungracious  manner  to  divest  herself  of  it. .  She 
employed  two  methods,  either  of  which  was  always 
successful,  to  accomplish  this.  One  was  to  sit  down  on 
her  haunches  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  patiently 
wait  till  the  rider  dismounted.  The  other  was  to  lie 
down  and  roll  over.  It  was  noticed  she  always  adopted 
the  former  with  her  lady  patrons,  and  the  latter  method 


93  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

with  her  male  ones.  For  this  nice  discrimination, 
Phoebe  once  or  twice  felt  grateful. 

However,  during  the  past  year,  this  willful  and 
degenerate  animal  had  so  banished  all  confidence  in 
everybody  that  Robbie  was  now  her  only  rider  and 
only  defender.  She  was  not  always  faithful  to  him, 
and  several  times  had  resented  his  efforts  to  have  her 
trot  more  than  two  miles  at  a  time  on  a  country  road. 
But  she  never  took  dust,  or  gravel,  and  would  trot  ten 
miles  rather  than  allow  any  one  to  pass  her.  She  was 
the  trotting  wonder  of  all  the  country,  but  her  eccen- 
tricities were  too  well  knov/n  to  make  her  desired  by 
anybody  in  that  neighborhood. 

In  a  country,  once  famous  for  fast  horses,  a  piece  of 
horseflesh  possessing  the  moving  qualities  of  Dewy 
Iris  still  excited  much  admiration.  A  Kentuckian 
would  have  worshiped  her  the  m.oment  he  saw  her  go. 
Robbie  v,'as  proud  of  her.  To  him  she  was  the  surest 
and  swiftest  thing  he  had  ever  seen.  Secretly  he  had 
already  conceived  the  plan  of  taking  her  to  Nev/  York, 
showing  her  speed  to  some  rich  man,  and  selling  her 
for  a  fabulous  sum.  In  his  confidence  he  would  have 
staked  Dewy  Iris  against  the  world.  This  done,  he 
proposed  to  get  an  education,  return  to  Virginia  and— 
marry  Phoebe  Strong. 

With  these  glowing  reflections  he  proceeded  to  the 
carriage  house,  where  the  harness  and  saddles  were 
also  kept.  He  had  entered,  and,  taking  down  his  ovrn 
saddle  and  bridle,  presents  from  Phoebe,  seated  himself 
on  a  rude  bench  near  the  entrance.     He  was  completely 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST.  93 

absorbed  in  examining  an  apparently  weak  spot  in  the 
surcingle,  when  he  felt  upon  his  shoulder  a  gentle  hand, 
and  looking  up,  beheld  Phoebe  gazing  tenderly  into  his 

face. 


94  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Phcebe's  expression,  always  sweet,  was  particularly 
so  just  now,  and  in  it  was  a  longing  look  that  made  it 
then  not  only  especially  pretty,  but  wonderfully  sym- 
pathetic. 

"Robbie,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  betrayed  a  trifle 
unsteadiness,  *'is  thee  really  going  to  leave  us?" 

"Why,  sure,"  somewhat  hastily. 

"Not  to-morrow?" 

"To-morrow." 

"Robbie,  do  not  go  to-morrow!  Do  not  go  for 
another  year.     Wait  another  year!" 

"Why,  Phoebe!"  said  Robbie,  "I— I  thought  thee 
would  be  glad — that  is,  pleased  to  see  me  make  a  start 
to — to  be  somebody.  Thee  knows,  Phcebe,  I  am  bound 
to  have  an  education,  and  thee  knows  I  must  do  some- 
thing for  myself." 

"Yes,"  repressing  something  in  her  throat;  "j^es, 
of  course,  but  I  am  thinking  of  father.  Father  loves 
thee;  he  already  leans  on  thee.  I  know  his  heart  and 
his  hopes.  In  another  year  he  will  make  thee  master 
here,  and  share  with  thee  the  profits  of  the  place." 

"Will  he  do  that?"  asked  Robbie,  his  heart  swelling 
till  his  ribs  and  chest  expanded. 

"I  am  sure  he  will!" 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  95 

This  came  very  near  shattering  Robbie's  dream  of 
conquest;  but  recovering  himself,  and  satisfied  that  his 
heart  had  resumed  its  normal  condition,  he  continued : 

"Phoebe,  thy  father,  thy  mother  and  thyself  have 
always  discouraged  this  project  of  mine,  when  the  time 
for  its  execution  approached,  and  heretofore  I  have  lis- 
tened and  yielded.  Now,  I  will  neither  listen  nor 
yield.  I  will  no  longer  be  either  the  object  of  pity  or 
the  subject  of  charity.  Your  kindness  I  can  never  re- 
turn ;  your  goodness  I  can  never  forget,  but  if  I  suffer 
it  longer  to  be  exercised,  it  will  kill  my  ambitions  and 
thwart  my  purpose.  Fully  have  I  resolved  that  my  life 
must  change.  My  mind,  Phoebe,  is  made  up.  I  am 
going  to  school,  to  college,  if  I  have  to  scrub  floors  and 
sweep  dormitories;  and  then,  I  am  going  to  study  law. 
I  am  tired  of  this  listless  life;  I  am  tired  of  being  a 
country  clodhopper;  I  am  tired,  Phoebe,  of  being  a 
drab-dressed  Quaker.  It's  a  good  thing  the  Creator  of 
the  universe  wasn't  a  Quaker.  All  the  song  birds 
would  have  been  owls,  and  all  the  flowers  the  color  of 
thy  mother's  First  Day  bonnet." 

"Why,  Robbie!"  said  Phoebe,  completely  taken  back 
at  the  boy's  manner  and  vehemence. 

"Of  course,  the  Quakers  are  all  right,  Phoebe,  and 
Uncle  Phineas  and  Aunt  Rachel  will  wear  wings  some 
day  as  big  and  white  as  the  sails  of  a  ship.  But  I  tell 
thee,  a  religion  that  has  neither  paintings  nor  music, 
singing  nor  preaching,  has  about  as  much  chance  to 
last  as  an  Easter  bonnet  without  a  feather  or  flower 
has  for  a  wearer." 


96  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

"Robbie,  how  thee  talks  I"  smiling  in  spite  of  herself, 

"Yes,  I'm  talking  now,  but  some  day  thee'll  heai 
me  talk  better." 

"Thee  talks  well,  I  am  sure;  but  I  hope  thy  voice 
will  never  be  raised  against  the  Quakers." 

"It  never  will,  nor  against  any  other  sect.  Religion, 
Phoebe,  as  thee  knows,  is  no  part  of  my  life,  and  will 
never  be  any  part  of  my  business." 

"I  think  it  is  a  great  part  of  thy  life,  and  thee  will 
never  depart  from  real  religion." 

"Well,  Phcebe,  let  us  not  talk  about  it.  Don't  try  to 
dissuade  me  from  going,  for  I  am  determined.  When 
I  return,  I  will  be  independent,  educated,  rich,  a  gen- 
tleman. ' ' 

"Thee  is  a  gentleman." 

"In  the  rough  perhaps,  but  I'll  be  in  the  smooth 
when  I  come  back. ' ' 

Phoebe  removed  her  hand  from  his  shoulder  and  took 
a  parcel  from  under  her  apron;  it  was  a  small  parcel, 
wrapped  in  paper.  She  unwrapped  it  and  displayed  a 
roll  of  bank  bills  larger  than  Robbie  had  ever  seen 
before. 

"Phoebe!"  jumping  to  his  feet,  "what  is  thee  going 
to  do  now?" 

"Thee  is  quite  sure  thee  is  going  away  to-morrow?"' 
She  was  very  firm  and  womanly  now. 

"Wh3^  yes." 

"Thee  is  quite  sure  thee  wants  to  go  to  school — quite 
sure  thee  will  go?" 

"Yesl" 


"THEE     HAS    NO    MONEY — TAKE    THIS." 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  97 

"Thee  has  no  money;  noplace  to  go;  take  this,"  and 
she  handed  him  the  package. 

The  generosity  of  the  act  and  the  delicacy  of  its  ex- 
ecution touched  him  to  the  heart.  He  leaned  his 
flushed  face  against  the  cold  tire  of  the  wagon  wheel, 
and  the  tears  trickled  through  his  fingers  like  rain, 
coursing  down  the  tire  till  they  dropped  to  the  floor. 
She  saw  his  emotion;  her  own  feelings  were  fast  over- 
coming her.  As  he  did  not  reach  for  the  money,  she 
laid  it  on  the  mud  dasher  of  the  vehicle  against  which 
he  leaned,  and  gathering  her  drab  dress  about  her,  liter- 
ally flew  from  his  presence. 


98  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

When  Robbie  looked  up  and  brushed  away  the  tears 
he  was  alone.     Before  him  reposed  the  pile  of  money! 

"When  I  take  it,"  thought  the  lad,  *'I  hope  my 
hands  will  turn  to  ashes!" 

This  money,  which  was  something  more  than  one 
thousand  dollars,  represented  the  careful  savings  of 
Phoebe's  life.  It  was  the  sole  worldly  thing  she  could 
unqualifiedly  call  her  own.  It  had  been  more  than 
twenty  years  reaching  its  present  proportions.  It 
represented  the  proceeds  of  sales  from  pet  pigs,  fat 
steers,  horses,  colts,  calves,  lambs,  sheep,  strutting 
turkeys,  and  crowing  chanticleers,  given  to  her  from 
time  to  time  by  her  generous,  indulgent  father. 

Once  or  twice  a  year,  ever  since  she  was  a  little  girl, 
Phineas  would  take  her  to  the  field,  the  pig  sty,  the 
sheep  fold,  or  the  stables,  and  present  her  with  some 
member  of  his  various  flocks.  Sometimes  it  was  a 
lamb,  innocent  and  bleating,  who  would  soon  become 
her  special  care,  eat  from  her  hand,  and  follow  her 
about  till  at  last  it  met  the  fate  of  its  fellows,  and  was  led 
to  the  shambles.  Sometimes  it  was  a  cute  and  blink- 
ing little  porker,  with  a  tail  like  a  gimlet  and  an  appe- 
tite like  an  elephant,  who  was  allowed  to  root,  squeal 
or  grunt  his  way  into  her  affections,  and  then  at  last. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO    ROOST.  99 

his  gratitude  stunted  by  accumulated  adipose  and  hia 
eyes  closed  in  sluggish,  swinish  indifference,  he,  too, 
would  be  allowed  to  join  the  "choir  invisible,"  and 
make  room  for  another  love,  another  object,  for  the 
concern  and  care  of  solicitous  Phoebe.  Several  times 
he  had  given  her  colts  to  raise,  Jersey  heifers,  calves, 
and  once,  after  Robbie  came,  a  pair  of  steers  to  hreak, 
which  she,  with  the  boy's  assistance,  trained  into  two 
dignified  and  obedient  oxen,  and  sold  them  to  "Cat'* 
Doggett  for  seventy-five  dollars,  dividing  the  money 
with  Robbie.  Some  of  her  horses  brought  good  prices 
in  Washington,  and  one  which  she  had  broken  herself 
was  shipped  there  and,  she  had  been  told,  purchased  by 
President  Grant. 

Of  late  years  the  income  from  the  butter  and  poultry, 
such  as  was  not  exchanged  at  the  stores  for  sugar,  salt, 
muslin,  gingham  and  shoes,  was  equally  divided  be- 
tween her  and  her  mother. 

In  this  way  Phineas  Strong  not  only  contrived  to  sup- 
ply the  women  of  the  house  with  ample  pocket  money, 
but  stimulated  their  interest  and  encouraged  their 
thrift  and  independence  by  supplying  the  means 
whereby  they  could  earn  it.  Thus  examples  of  his  gen- 
erosity were  constantly  before  them,  while  they,  in  the 
exercise  of  their  innocent  rivalry  for  his  praise,  wer& 
always  in  the  enjoyment  of  that  rare  felicity  which 
comes  from  the  successful  achievement  of  individual 
efforts. 

Robbie,  therefora  knew  better  than  anybody  else  the- 
sweet  ardor  which  had  helped  accumulate  this  money^ 


100  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

Every  back  bill  before  him  had  a  history,  and  in 
Pbcebe'a  mind  it  must  always  be  associated  with  the 
thought  of  a  pet  horse,  a  gentle  lamb,  or  a  sad-eyed, 
warm  breathing  Jersey  heifer. 

Why,  around  that  pile  of  money  hung  a  halo  of  recol- 
lections as  sweet  and  tender  as  the  memories  of  a  buried 
love.  Every  bill  had  been  wet  by  Phoebe's  tears,  and 
Eobbie  knew  it.  To  him  those  notes  were  as  sacred  as 
are  the  dead,  scentless  posies  pressed  into  the  leaves  of 
some  yellow-paged  book  by  the  hand  of— well,  say  the 
hand  of  a  sainted  mother. 

"Well,"  he  said,  trying  to  repress  the  coming  tears, 
"I  couldn't  take  money  from  a  woman;  anyhow, 
I  couldn't  take  her  money;  and  that  money,"  eyeing 
the  parcel,  "well,  I  couldn't  take  that  if  I  v/as  starv- 
ing! Why,  Robert  Porter,"  talking  to  himself,  "if 
you  take  that  money,  I'll  kill  you,  yes,  kill  you  dead 
and  throw  your  body  into  the  river  for  the  fish  to  feed 
on!" 

Delivering  himself  thus  rather  vehemently,  he  took  a 
pencil,  and  wrote  on  a  portion  of  the  paper  which  partly 
concealed  the  bank  notes : 

"Dearest  Friend  Phcebe  (how  he  wished  he  dared 
leave  out  the  'friend'):  I  couldn't  take  thy  money. 
Indeed,  I  could  not.  I  have  Dewy  Iris,  and  nearly 
three  hundred  dollars,  counting  the  two  hundred  Uncle 
Phineas  gave  me  this  morning.  Don't,  please,  don't, 
offer  me  the  money  again.  I  couldn't  even  borrow  it 
of  thee.  It  would  always  make  me  feel  mean  to  take 
it — besides  uncle  v/ould  lend  me  monej'  if  I  wanted  it. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  101 

I  want  to  earn  my  own  money,  and  not  be  a  beggar. 
But,  Phoebe,  some  day,  thee  will  know  how  I  thank 
thee.  EoBBiE." 


This  was  the  first  letter  Kobbie  had  ever  written  in. 
his  life,  and  he  read  it  several  times  before  he  con- 
cluded to  fold  it  and  the  money  together,  and  dispatch 
them  by  the  hand  of  a  servant  to  the  presence  of  their 
noble  and  unselfish  owner.  To  deliver  them  himself 
was  a  task,  just  now,  he  dare  not  trust  himself  to  at- 
tempt. He  had  completed  the  folding  and  tying  of  the 
package,  when  Betty,  the  cook,  evidently  just  from  an 
excursion  in  search  of  fresh  eggs,  holding  her  apron  up 
and  folded  about  her  two  hands,  appeared,  passing  the 
door  of  the  carriage  house. 

"Oh,  Betty!"  called  Bobbie,  "do  me  a  favor?" 

"Dat  will  I,"  says  Betty.  "What  you  want  me  to 
do,  Mas'r  Bob?" 

"Here's  a  parcel  Phoebe  dropped  a  moment  ago. 
Carry  it  to  her  right  away." 

"Suah,  is  dat  all?" 

"That  is  all,  Bettj^,  and  here  is  something  for  your 
trouble." 

With  that  he  put  the  package  in  her  apron,  and 
passed  before  her  eyes  a  brand-new  dollar  bill, 

"What's  dat  for,  Mas'r  Bob?" 

"For  your  trouble," 

"Fo' my  trouble?" 

"Yes!" 

"I  hain't  got  no  trouble,  Mas'r  Bob." 


103  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

"Neber  had  no  trouble  sence  Mas'r  Strong  ben  on  de 
place." 

"Oh,  I  mean  this,"  passing  the  dollar  bill  close  to 
her  eyes,  "is  to  pay  you  for  doing  my  errand  I" 

"Isdatadolla'?" 

"Yes." 

"It  ain't  no  real  dolla'?" 

"Yes,  real  and  good!" 

"Look  here,  Mas'r  Bob,  is  you  goin'  to  gib  me  a 
"dolla'  for  takin'  dat  passel  ter  Miss  Phoebe?" 

"Certainly!" 

"Keep  yo'  dolla',  boy  I  you'se  puttin'  on  dis  mornin'. 
Has  Mas'r  Strong  done  gib  yo'  de  place?" 

"Betty,  you  have  always  been  kind  to  me.  I  am 
going  to  leave  early  to-morrow  morning,  and  wanted — 
felt  like  giving  you  a  trifle." 

The  clasped  hands  under  the  apron  parted,  up  went 
the  arms,  and  away  went  the  package,  and  smash  on 
the  ground  went  the  eggs. 

"Goin'  ter  do  what,  chile?" 

*' Going  to  leave." 

*'To  leave  dis  here  place?" 

**Yes." 

"Look  here,  Mas'r  Bob,  what's  gittin'  into  dis  place? 
Missus  hain't  spoke  to  me  fer  two  hours.  Yer  uncle 
done  tole  me  jes  now  to  quit  singin',  and  Miss  Phoebe 
was  outen  de  back  po'ch  all  de  mornin'  cryin'; — I  seed 
lier  my  o'nself ;  and  now,  you  offers  me  a  dolla',  and 
den  says  yo'  is  goin'  away.    No,  'tain't  true  I  You  won't 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  10.J 

go,  Mas'r  Bob,  dej'' won't  let  yer.  Wen  yo'  goes  *way 
from  here  I  reckon  de  mour'in'  badges  will  be  blacker 
dan  any  nigger's  face  in  dese  parts.  Dey  won't  hang 
up  no  drab  crape  fo'  yo',  Mas'r  Bob.  Alius  kno'd 
yo'  was  fuller'n  dem  jokes  and  tricks,  but  yer  can't 
play  no  game  wid  dis  chicken.  I'll  take  yer  passel, 
an'  gib  it  to  de  lady;  but  yer  dis  keep  de  dolla'  bill. 
I'se  goin'  to  hab  custa'd  pie  fer  dinner,  ef  these  eggs 
ain't  all  busted.'*  She  stooped  down  and  gathered  all 
she  could,  and  the  "passel"  into  her  apron.  "Nex* 
time,  Mas'r  Bob,  you  makes  me  break  a  dozen  eggs 
wif  yo'  fool    'nouncements,  I'll  break  yo'  bed!" 

She  waddled  toward  the  house,  where  in  a  few 
moments  she  placed  the  "passel"  in  Phoebe's  hands, 
and  nearly  lost  her  breath  when  Phoebe,  to  her  inquiries, 
assured  her  that  she  believed  Robbie  would  leave  thena 
on  the  morrow. 


104  CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO  ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Much  was  the  consternation  among  the  colored 
people  when  it  was  generally  known  that  Rohbie  was 
going  away.  They  all  loved  him.  During  the  day 
most  of  them  had  been  to  him  and  begged  him  not 
to  go. 

If  then,  this  character,  my  hero,  could  awaken  in  the 
dusky  servants  sentiments  of  the  sincerest  friendship 
these  simple  people  could  ever  know,  what  tender  ties 
must  have  grown  between  him  and  the  Strongs,  to 
whom  his  frankness,  his  generosity,  his  memory  and 
his  genial,  sunny  temper  had  for  many  years  among 
themselves  been  the  chief  charm  of  their  lives,  and  the 
most  frequent  subject  of  their  conversation? 

It  was  "Robbie"  here,  affd  "Robbie"  there,  and 
* 'Robbie"  this,  and  "Robbie"  that,  and  fondness  daily 
expended  itself  in  petty  praises  and  tender  endearments. 
Why  he  ever  wanted  to  leave  was  a  mystery  to  all. 
In  after  years  Robbie  learned  there  was  no  correct  solu- 
tion for  the  query. 

To  Phoebe,  more  than  all  others,  the  prospect  of  his 
going  brought  'the  most  disquiet,  the  most  anguish. 
All  day  she  had  racked  her  brain  for  some  plan  to  pre- 
vent it.  At  dinner  she  ate  nothing.  In  the  evening 
when  the  sun  bad  disappeared  behind  the  western  tree- 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  105 

tops  in  a  bank  of  somber  clouds,  her  eyes  were  red  and 
her  head  was  throbbing.  Her  feelings  when  Betty 
returned  the  money,  and  when  she  had  read  the  note> 
were  wrought  to  the  highest  pitch.  She  indulged  in 
an  uncontrollable  fit  of  weeping,  which  lasted  more  than 
an  hour. 

For  years  she  had  come  to  regard  Robbie  as  her  own. 
The  possibility  of  his  actually  going  away  never  was 
fully  realized;  indeed,  until  now  it  had  never  been 
coDsidered.  She  did  not  see,  could  not  bring  herself  to 
understand,  why  he  must  go.  The  terrible  tugging 
pains  about  her  heart  told  her  too  plainly  she  could 
never  witness  his  departure  without  complete  collapse. 
His  going  was  a  serious  thing  to  poor  Phcebe.  Her 
affection  had  become  a  love,  a  passion  that  occupied 
her  whole  being.  For  years  she  had  dreamed,  planned, 
and  thought  only  of  Robbie.  That  he  would  some  day 
come  to  her  and  lay  his  heart  at  her  feet,  she  firmly  be- 
lieved. That  he  did  not  now  declare  himself  she  at- 
tributed to  his  pride,  his  povert}',  his  youth.  His  noble 
nature,  she  felt  sure,  alone  restrained  the  declaration 
of  that  passion  which  she  was  confident  burned  in  his 
bosom  as  brightly  and  as  constantly  as  in  her  own. 

But  to  part  from  him,  to  see  him  go  away;  to  think 
of  him  alone  in  the  world,  battling  for  life,  too  proud  to 
ask  or  accept  assistance;  to  think  of  the  passing  days, 
the  long  nights,  the  weeks,  months,  perhaps  years 
before  she  might  again  see  his  face;  for  sl:8  knew  he 
would  return  only  when  he  had  accomplished  his  pur- 
pose.    And  she,  who  had  plenty,  could  not  even  help 


106  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

him ;  she  of  all  the  world ;  she,  who  would  have  fol- 
lowed him  barefooted,  if  necessary,  through  the  uni- 
■verse.  Then  the  dread  that  he  might  never  return,  that 
some  other  face  might  charm  him  more  than  her  own, 
the  dread  that  when  he  did  come  she  would  be  too  old, 
too  plain. 

"Oh,  surely,"  she  thought,  "before  he  goes  he  will 
tell  me.  Surely  he  will  ask  me  to  wait  for  him. 
Surely  he  will  say  something;  surely  he  must  see,  must 
know,  how  dearly  I  love  him!  Oh,  I  can't  let  him  go, 
I  know  I  can't!  I  might  as  well  die!  Something  will 
happen  to  make  him  understand.  Oh,  if  I  dared,  if  he 
wouldn't  despise  me,  I  would  throw  my  arms  about 
him  and  tell  him !  But  no,  he  would  hate  me  then.  I 
know  him.  He  is  going  away  to  win  me.  He  has  said 
it  almost.  I  suppose  it  is  to  be.  But  it  is  hard,  so 
hard  to  bear!"     And  it  was. 

The  poor  girl  spent  most  of  the  day  in  tears,  and  by 
the  time  night  set  in  was  really  sick  of  grief.  She  kept 
her  room  until  quite  late,  and  just  before  the  family 
was.  about  to  retire,  appeared  in  the  sitting  room,  where 
her  mother,  her  father  and  Robbie  were  making  prelim- 
inary movements  for  bed. 

Now,  reader,  Phoebe  had  a  becoming  amount  of 
dignity,  and  entirely  too  much  pride  to  betray  her  emo- 
tions in  public,  or  confide  to  even  her  parents  so  dear  a 
secret  as  her  love  for  Eobbie  Porter.  It  was  her  own, 
and  she  did  not  propose  to  impart  its  knowledge  to 
others.  Therefore,  despite  the  tears  and  agitation  of 
the  day,  she  presented  a  most  charming  appearance. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  107 

She  informed  the  company  that  she  was  better,  and  told 
Robbie  she  would  wait  till  morning  to  bid  him  "fare- 
well." 

"Please  wake  me  as  thee  comes  down,"  she  said,  "for 
I  want  to  wish  thee  fair  winds  and  a  prosperous  voy- 
age." Behind  a  smiling  face  she  concealed  the  day's 
ravages  an  aching  heart  had  left  there. 

"I  am  going  to  Fredericksburg,  and  from  there  by 
boat  to  Baltimore,  and  from  there  by  boat  to  New 
York,"  said  Robbie;  "so  I  will  be  up  with  the  lark." 

"Will  thee  wear  thy  good  clothes?"  asked  Aunt 
Rachel. 

"Yes,"  said  Robbie,  "and  I  wish  thee  would  lay 
them  out  for  me  to-night!" 

"Very  well;  I  will  put  them  right  across  the  foot  of 
thy  bed,  and  thee  will  see  them  as  soon  as  thee  opens 
thy  eyes.  Farewell,  Robert,"  she  said;  "thee  must 
write  to  us.  Be  as  good  in  the  world  as  thou  hast  been 
here  and  thee  need  never  be  ashamed  of  thy  conduct. 
Fare  thee  well." 

This  dear,  motherly  woman,  now  nearly  threescore 
and  ten,  turned  from  him  the  sweetest,  most  placid  face 
he  ever  saw,  and  left  the  room,  whence  all  soon  after 
dispersed,  Phoebe  to  her  apartment,  and  Robbie  to  his 
attic ;  where,  alone,  he  proceeded  to  complete  his  prep- 
arations for  the  morning. 

His  wardrobe  was  not  extensive.  He  had  intended 
to  pack  it  in  his  father's  old  knapsack  and  take  it  with 
him.  He  therefore  proceeded  to  hunt  for  this  relic,  but 
upon  discovering  it  and  bringing  it  to  the  light,  decided 


108  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

that  it  was  too  much  worn,  and  the  brass  plate,  with 
the  U.  S.  engraved  thereon,  might  be  misleading.  He, 
therefore,  without  even  disturbing  or  looking  at  the 
papers  or  letters  within,  kicked  it  into  a  corner,  placed 
an  open-faced  silver  watch,  a  present  from  Aunt 
Eachel,  under  his  pillow,  disrobed,  pinched  the  light 
from  his  candle  with  his  thumb  and  forefinger,  and 
jumped  into  bed. 

Every  night  for  seven  years  he  had  slept  in  that  bed, 
in  that  room.  It  was  a  large,  plainly  furnished  apart- 
ment, partitioned  off  at  the  north  side  of  the  attic,  and 
lighted  and  ventilated  by  means  of  a  large  square 
window,  composed  of  Colonial  panes  of  glass,  of  almost 
innumerable  quantity.  This  window  was  fastened  to 
the  window  frame  by  means  of  hinges,  and  opened  and 
shut  with  a  lateral  motion.  When  closed  it  could  be 
firmly  secured  by  means  of  a  hickory  button  or  knob 
which  occupied  a  middle  position  on  that  side  of  the 
window  frame  opposite  the  hinges.  This  button  was 
held  in  place  by  a  screw  in  its  center,  so  adjusted  that 
usually  a  slight  touch  of  the  finger  and  thumb  were 
sufficient  to  move  it  up  or  down,  so  that  when  the  win- 
dow was  closed  the  horizontal  position  of  the  button 
was  sufficient  to  keep  it  so. 

The  walls  and  ceiling  were  plastered  and  "white- 
washed." The  floor  was  white  oak,  and  was  devoid  of 
carpet,  rug  or  matting.  A  bedstead,  painted  red,  on 
which  was  a  huge  featherbed,  supported  by  ropes 
beneath ;  a  red  chest  in  a  corner,  an  old-fashioned  red 
chair,  with  a  white  seat  made  of  twisted  corn  husks,  and 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  109 

an  old  mahogany-veneered  work-stand,  with  sides 
raised  above  the  topmost  shelf,  and  rolled  at  the  ends 
into  a  scroll  like  a  Queen  Elizabeth  collar,  completed 
the  furnishings  of  the  room.  It  was  clean,  plain, 
severe,  yet  comfortable,  and  yet,  reader,  you  will  agree 
with  me  that  it  was  not  wholly  attractive.  With  the 
exception  of  Phoebe's,  and  two  spare  rooms,  few  of  the 
apartments  in  the  house  were  but  little  more  elaborate. 

Upon  the  floor  in  Phoebe's  room  there  was  a  rag  car- 
pet, which  she  and  her  mother  had  made,  and  which 
was  woven  by  the  colored  help  on  the  farm. 

Robbie,  to  whom  usually  sleep  came  at  his  bid- 
ding, found  in  a  little  while  that  his  sensations  and  his 
thoughts  were  repelling  all  semblance  to  drowsiness. 
He  would  close  his  eyes,  but  he  could  not  lose  con- 
sciousness. Try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  banish 
Phoebe's  face  from  his  mind.  It  seemed  to  haunt  him. 
Her  expression  in  the  carriage  house,  the  wistful,  long- 
ing look  appealed  to  him,  and  seemad  to  cry  out,  to 
ask  for  something;  to  beseech,  and  yet  conceal  the 
very  request  it  would  make.  The  information  con- 
veyed to  him  by  Betty  that  she  had  seen  Phoebe  weep- 
ing also  made  a  deep  impression.  He  did  not  flatter 
himself,  however,  that  she  wept  over  the  prospect  of  his 
departure. 

"Of  course,"  reasoned  he  mentally,  "she  might  be 
crying  about  my  going,  but  then  she'd  cry  if  she  sold  a 
pet  pig  or  lost  a  bird.  I'm  a  fool  to  think  of  her  in  the 
way  I  do.  She  wouldn't  notice  me — she  v/ill  some 
day.     She   won't  marry.     There  is  no  one  here  good 


110  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

enough  for  her,  and  she  never  goes  from  home.  Be- 
sides, when  I  get  to  New  York  I'll  write  it  to  her;  tell 
her  I  love  her,  and  ask  her  to  wait  for  me.  Then,  if 
sl^e  laughs  I  can't  hear  her;  you  can't  write  a  laugh, 
and  she's  too  good  to  hurt  my  feelings  in  a  letter.  I'll 
come  and  see  her  if  she  says  yes;  if  she  doesn't — well — 
I'll  go  to  the  devil,  I  guess." 

With  visions  of  Phoebe  before  him,  chasing  away  by 
her  words-to-be  the  prospects  of  his  going  to  the  devil, 
he  at  last  fell  asleep. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  Ill 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

It  chanced  that  on  this  particular  night  the  window 
button,  whose  duty  it  was  to  hold  the  window  of  Rob- 
bie's room  in  its  place  when  closed,  had  carelessly  been 
left  in  a  perpendicular  position. 

Sleep,  which  had  been  kind  to  our  hero,  was  cruel  to 
Phoebe,  and  left  her  entirely  to  the  solitude  of  reflection. 
Therefore,  when  the  wind  arose  among  the  swaying 
trees,  she  heard  it;  and  when  the  rain  beat  against  her 
window  pane,  she  hoped  it  would  continue  in  torrents 
so  Robbie  could  not  go  on  the  morrow.  At  this  very 
moment  an  increased  blast  of  the  storm  without  rattled 
all  the  windows  of  the  house,  and  she  was  quite  sure 
had  blown  one  open.  In  the  intervals  of  stillness  that 
followed,  she  listened  intently  in  the  darkness;  yes, 
she  was  sure  Robbie's  window  had  blown  open,  and 
was  swinging  to  and  fro,  knocking  against  the  wall, 
causing  a  clanging  and  a  banging  noise  that  must 
sooner  or  later  shatter  every  pane  in  the  sash.  She 
could  occasionally  hear  sheets  of  rain  sweep  in  and  fall 
upon  the  floor  and  bed. 

"Robbie  must  be  asleep,"  she  thought,  "or  surely  he 
would  close  the  window.  He  will  get  his  death  of 
cold!" 

Here  all  of  her  natural  sympathies  began  to  disturb 


112  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

her  little  heart;  and,  all  unconscious  of  the  semi-hidden 
charms  the  dim  light  of  a  tallow  candle  revealed,  she 
noiselessly  proceeded  to  ascend  the  stairs  leading  to 
Robbie's  room. 

At  the  threshold  of  his  door  she  paused,  and  for  an 
instant  hesitated  to  enter.  Some  thought,  perhaps  the 
impropriety  of  the  situation,  may  have  arrested  her,  but 
only  for  a  moment.  Why  should  it?  Her  motive  was 
noble,  and  conscious  of  her  purity  and  innocence,  all 
scruples  vanished. 

How  many  times,  how  many  hundred  times,  had  she 
stood  by  that  boy's  bedside,  and  watched  that  sweet 
smile,  which  always  played  round  his  mouth,  sleeping 
or  waking.  How  often  had  she  entered  that  very  room 
and  done  what  she  came  to  do  now — close  his  window 
against  the  storms  that  threatened  his  health.  How 
often  had  she  tucked  the  coverlet  about  his  form,  kissed 
his  smooth,  white  forehead,  and,  undiscovered,  escaped 
to  the  secrecy  of  her  own  room. 

She  would  close  his  window  once  more.  She  would 
tuck  the  coverlet  around  him,  and — yes,  once  more  kiss 
him.  Her  mind,  full  of  goodness,  and  her  heart  full 
of  love,  the  candle  elevated  before  her  face,  her  lovely 
charms  of  breast  and  neck  struggling  here  and  there  in 
rod  and  white  patches  between  the  ruffles  and  frills  of 
her  gown;  her  feet  bare,  her  long,  rich  black  hair 
streaming  behind  her,  she  entered  the  presence  of  the 
sleeper,  and  tiptoed  her  way,  passing  the  footboard  of 
the  bed,  to  the  open  and  refractory  window.  Quickly, 
noiselessly  and  securely,  she  thought,  she  fastened  it  by 


SHE    ENTERED    THE    ROOM    OF   THE   SLEEPER. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  113 

means  of  the  hickory  button.  Turning,  she  retraced 
her  steps,  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  and  stood 
looking  into  Eobbie's  face.  A  puddle  of  rain  water 
was  spreading  itself  into  a  little  lake  under  the  bed,  and 
it  now  reached  her  bare  feet.  The  coverlet  at  the  side 
nearest  the  window  and  near  the  footboard  was  sop- 
ping wet,  and  there  lay  our  hero,  his  arms  thrown  up 
and  resting  on  the  pillow  back  of  his  head. 

His  lips,  pouting  into  a  sweet  expression,  at  this 
instant  parted,  and  a  sraile  played  along  their  edges  from 
every  curve  and  corner.  His  shirt  collar  rolled  back, 
and  opened  below  the  band ;  the  coverlet  thrown  back,  his 
neck  and  chest  were  completely  exposed  to  the  inclement 
storm.  Delicately  she  leaned  over  (he  was  sleeping 
soundly  now)  and  nimbly  fastened  his  shirt  collar  so  as  to 
conceal  his  exposed  chest.  She  then  carefully  drew  up 
the  coverlet.  To  do  this  completely  and  properly,  it 
was  necessary  to  relinquish  her  hold  on  the  candle. 
She  therefore  placed  it  on  the  coverlet  on  that  side  near- 
est the  window,  and  in  a  spot  somewhat  smooth  and  flat, 
and  not  occupied  by  any  part  of  the  sleeper.  This 
done,  she  leaned  over  those  smiling  lips  and  kissed 
them. 

At  that  very  moment,  I  think,  Robbie  must  have 
been  dreaming,  and  the  dream  must  have  been  of  the 
fair  girl  who  was  pressing  her  face  to  his.  It  must 
have  been  a  palpable  dream,  for  his  lips  parted,  and 
the  word  "Phoebe"  issued  from  them  with  a  sweet  but 
startling  distinctness. 

At  the   same    moment,    involuntarily    yielding   no 


114  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

doubt  to  the  impulse  of  the  delicious  dream  which  was 
then  floating  before  his  slumbering  vision,  his  arms 
raised  from  the  pillow,  encircled  the  head  and  neck  of 
the  half -reclining  Phoebe,  and  drawing  her  down  upon 
his  breast,  held  her  in  a  vise-like  embrace. 

Poor  Phoebe !  The  world  was  sliding  from  under  her 
feet.  In  the  vigor  of  that  strong  grasp  her  own 
strength  left  her,  and  her  whole  body  became  like  warm 
wax. 

She  thought  him  awake.  He  was  in  fact  asleep;  and 
yet  he  hugged  her  all  the  tighter.  She  tried  to  extri- 
cate herself,  and  in  her  efforts  overturned  the  candle 
stick.  Out  went  the  light,  and  its  lead  stick  and  plat- 
ter fell  from  the  bed  to  the  floor.  With  a  muffled  sound 
they  rolled  to  the  further  end  of  the  room. 

"Robbie!  Robbie!  Robbie!"  whispered  Phoebe, 
"please  let  me  go;  wake  up,  Robbie!"  and  Robbie 
awoke  to  a  realization  of  his  dream.  Phoebe  Strong 
was  fast  in  his  arms,  and  her  warm,  sweet  breath  was 
blowing  its  delicious  fragrance  into  his  face.  He  sat 
bolt  upright,  felt  with  his  fingers  her  face  and  hair,  felt 
the  warm,  velvety  softness  of  that  cheek  which  always 
bloomed  like  a  rose.  At  last,  dimly  comprehending 
the  cause  of  the  sudden  sensation  of  happiness  which 
was  stealing  over  his  frame,  he  exclaimed : 

"Phoebe!  Is  it  thee,  Phoebe?" 

"Yes,  Robbie,  the  wind  blew  open  thy  window.  I 
eame  to  shut  it,  and  to  pull  the  coverlet  over  thee. 
Thee  caught  hold  of  me." 

"Oh,  Phoebe,  did  I  do  that?"  he  said,  falling  back 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  115 

on  the  pillow,  and  holding  her  hand  in  one  of  his;  "did 
I  really  do  that?  Oh,  Phoebe!  Forgive  me,  will  thee? 
I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing;  forgive  me,  Phoebe.'* 

"I  forgive  thee,  Eobert.     Now  let  me  go!" 

Involuntarily — it  seemed  that  it  must  have  been  so — 
his  own  courage  never  could  have  done  it — his  arms 
reached  out  and  enfolded  that  divine  creature,  drew 
her  head  down  beside  his  own,  and  in  a  voice,  the  dry- 
ness of  his  lips  and  mouth  reduced  to  the  faintest  whis- 
per, said,  "Oh,  Phoebe,  how  I  love  thee!  Wait  for 
me,  Phoebe,  till  I  come  back.  I  have  loved  thee  ever 
since  I  saw  thee;  I  will  love  thee  till  I  die!" 

Alas,  for  Phoebe!  She  knew  it  all  now.  The  some- 
thing had  happened.  Pobbie  loved  her.  She  was  too 
happy  to  even  speak.  Her  limbs  fell  a-trembling,  her 
muscles  relaxed,  and  down  into  the  pools  of  water  that 
covered  the  floor  she  slipped  to  her  knees.  Around 
her  waist,  resting  on  her  hips  went  Robbie's  strong 
right  arm;  with  it  he  pressed  her  form  against  the  side 
of  the  bed,  and  her  head  fell  over  on  his  bosom. 

"Oh,  Robbie!     Does  thee  mean  it?" 

"Does  thee  love  me?" 

"Couldn't  thee  see  that  I  loved  thee?" 

"No,  I  couldn't;  but  does  thee?  Will  thee,  Phoebe, 
marry  me  when  I  come  back?" 

"Yes,  Robbie,  I  love  thee!  I  will  marry  thee  when 
thee  comes  back !  I  will  marry  thee  to-morrow;  I  will 
never  marry  anybody  but  thee!" 

"Phoebe,  Phoebe!"  he    exclaimed,  "I    never    dared 


116  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 

think  it.  I  don't  deserve  it,  but  thee  wouldn't  say  it 
if  thee  didn't  mean  it,  would  thee,  Phoebe?" 

"  No,"  said  Phoebe,  and  immediately  fell  a-trembling 
as  though  shaken  with  an  ague. 

Passively  she  still  knelt.  All  of  the  sweet,  pure, 
maidenly  impulses  of  her  nature  crowded  unto  her 
mind,  and  urged  her  to  fly  from  the  scene,  but  the 
mystic  spell,  the  indefinable  sweetness  of  the  whole 
situation,  the  joy  in  her  heart,  the  knowledge  that  her 
love  was  returned,  the  sudden  realization  that  he  was 
hers,  hers  for  all  time,  drove  away  her  impulses  to 
flight.  The  night  concealed  her  blushes,  and  her 
agitation,  her  happiness,  silenced  the  rising  protest  of 
her  tongue,  and  chained  her  to  the  spot. 

In  the  depth  of  her  great  love,  and  in  the  purity  of 
her  heart,  as  well  as  its  longings,  she  thought  no 
wrong,  and  saw  no  harm.  In  the  mighty  scope  of  that 
passion  which  for  five  years  had  been  her  thought  by 
day  and  her  dream  by  night,  she  found  justification 
and  stilled  the  voice  of  conscience.  No  matter  now 
what  would  happen,  or  what  could  happen,  Eobbie 
was  hers !  Their  troth  was  plighted,  eternal  vows  were 
exchanged,  and  these  two,  whom  the  Creator  no  doubt 
long  ago  designed  each  for  the  other,  in  that  dark,  wet 
room  of  that  old  attic,  alone,  v^hile  the  storm  lashed 
and  fumed  without,  revealed  their  mutual  love,  and  if 
either  could  have  beheld  the  face  of  the  other,  it 
would  have  been  to  read  life's  meaning  in  each  other's 
eyes. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  117 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Now,  of  course,  my  lady  readers  are  breaking  out 
into  exclamations  of  surprise  at  the  weakness  of  Phoebe. 

No  doubt  her  conduct  will  be  condemned,  and  her 
name  deprecated ;  but,  fair  reader,  she  has  a  champion 
in  the  author.  By  Heaven,  miss  or  madam,  if  you 
please,  she  was  not  weak.  It  takes  a  lasting  love  to 
risk  what  Phoebe  risked.  It  takes  a  world  of  confidence 
in  the  object  of  your  affection  to  do  what  Phoebe  did. 
It  takes  a  strong  character  to  brave  a  censorious  com- 
munity who  knows  a  woman's  first  misstep.  It  takes 
a  brave  heart  in  a  mother  to  face  and  go  through  the 
world  with  the  offspring  of  an  illicit  love.  It  takes  a 
noble  woman  to  see  in  the  living  evidence  of  her  shame 
the  personification  of  her  trust. 

Perhaps  Phoebe  did  not  think  of  these  things,  per- 
haps did  not  carefully  consider  them;  but  Ph(»be  was 
now  a  woman,  mentally  and  physically  matured.  She 
knew  all  these  things,  she  considered  them  all,  and, 
weighing  the  praise  and  censure  of  the  world  with  the 
joy  of  this  revealed  love,  resolved  to  enjoy  the  one,  and 
if  necessary,  endure  the  other. 

And  what  then?  Nothing,  reader !  There  is  nothing 
beyond  the  flowered  fruition  of  a  first  love. 

"Whether    there    be    prophecies,    they    shall    fail: 


118  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

whether  there  be  tongues  they  shall  cease,  and  whether 
there  be  knowledge  it  shall  vanish  away,"  but  the  re- 
membrance of  a  first  love,  reciprocated,  fulfilled,  will 
linger  on  and  on,  and  in  the  halls  of  meraory  be  carried 
even  beyond  the  portals  of  time. 

And  if,  in  the  gloomy  cave  of  the  mountain  fastness, 
^neas  and  Dido  were  married,  then  Eobbie  and  Phoebe 
v;ere  married.  It  needed  no  mumbling  preacher,  no 
smirking  attendants,  no  strains  of  music,  no  fulsome 
praises  to  add  sacredness  to  a  union  like  theirs.  The 
law  would  have  been  powerless  to  have  welded  these 
hearts  closer,  or  mingled  and  blended  so  completely  the 
lives,  the  hopes,  the  purposes  and  plans  of  two  people 
more  perfectly.  True,  they  were  married  as  nature 
marries ;  they  were  married  as  the  birds  marry ;  they 
were  married  as  marry  the  lilies  of  the  ponds  and  the 
flowers  of  the  field ;  and,  unknowingly,  each  of  them, 
their  two  natures  teeming  with  passion  and  overflowing 
with  affection,  yielded,  bowed  submissive  to  a  primeval 
law,  older  even  than  the  laws  of  God  and  higher  than 
the  laws  of  man. 

Phoebe  was  still  good,  still  pure,  still  innocent,  still 
l^eautiful,  and  better  than  all,  she  was  happy. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  11^ 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

And,  reader,  whether  there  be  nights  of  pain,  or 
nights  of  pleasure;  whether  there  be  nights  of  grief,  or 
nights  of  sorrow,  the  morning  will  come  just  as  sure  as 
time  will  be  measured.  To  some  the  day  brings  the 
harp  of  love,  and  to  others  the  scourge  of  hate.  On  its 
breath  is  sometimes  borne  the  fragrance  of  happiness, 
and  sometimes  the  stench  of  misery. 

To  Robbie  the  morning  came  and  with  it  a  realiza- 
tion of  all  that  had  taken  place.  And  now,  more  than 
ever,  he  determined  that  lie  must  leave.  Now,  it  would 
never  do  to  stay.  He  must  go,  do  something  quick; 
and,  with  fame  sounding  in  his  ears,  fortune  in  his 
hands,  return  and  claim  before  the  world  his  beautiful 
bride.  She  had  promised  to  wait.  She  had  said  the 
words.  He  believed  her  implicitly.  He  would  have 
strangled  the  suggestion  of  a  doubt.  "ISTo!  No!  there 
is  no  doubt  in  that  bosom;  no  wavering  in  that  heart!'* 

Quickly  dressing  in  his  best  suit,  a  brown-colored 
cassimere,  consisting  of  roundabout  coat,  a  vest,  and  a 
pair  of  trousers,  all  made  by  Phoebe,  he  approached 
that  side  of  the  bed  on  which  she  lay,  and  stood  for. a 
moment  aHectionately  gazing  into  that  perfect,  up- 
turned, happy  face. 

She  slept  soundly,  peacefully.     It  was   barely  day. 


120  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

not  six  o'clock.     Not  a  soul  was  stirring.     "I  will  not 
wake  her!     Let  her  sleep.     It  is  better  so!"  he  said. 

He  leaned  over  the  prostrate  form,  and  fearing  lest 
she  wake,  to  press  his  lips  to  hers,  gathered  in  one 
band  the  strands  of  silken  hair  that  lay  loosely  upon 
the  pillow,  and  winding  them  around  his  neck  for 
a  minute,  kissed  them  again  and  again,  replaced 
them,  picked  up  his  top  boots  and  rapidly  quitted  the 
room. 

An  uncontrollable  desire  seized  him  to  get  away. 
He  was  stifling  till  he  reached  the  open  air.  Waiting 
for  neither  toilet  nor  breakfast,  seeing  nobody,  he  has- 
tened to  the  barn,  threw  the  saddle  on  Dewy  Iris,  felt 
to  see  if  his  monej'"  was  in  his  vest  pocket,  mounted, 
and  urged  the  creature  hastily  forward. 

The  tears  were  coursing  down  his  cheeks  as  he  passed 
rapidly  along  that  very  road  that  first  led  him  to  this 
sweet  retreat;  this  dear  home.  The  rain,  instead  of 
abating,  increased  in  volume,  and  the   wind   in  fury. 

From  the  overhanging  trees  as  he  rode  along,  great 
flakes  and  sheets  of  water  dropped  ever  him,  and  soon 
he  was  v>^et  to  the  skin.  He  had  no  top  coat,  and  had 
not  proceeded  more  than  a  few  miles  when  a  sense  of 
chilliness  stole  over  his  frame.  His  emotions  were  the 
saddest  he  had  ever  known.  He  condemned  himself 
as  a  fool  v/ith  nearly  every  stride  of  his  horse. 

Once,  reader,  yes,  once,  he  turned  the  animal  about, 
and  galloped  back  to  within  sight  of  the  "whitewashed 
gate,"  and  the  old,  white-painted  house.  But  his  pride 
would  not  suffer  him   to  enter.      Again   he    headed 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  121 

Dewy  Irid  toward  Fredericksburg.  This  time  he 
dried  his  eyes,  swore  inwardly  he  would  never  shed 
another  tear  as  long  as  he  lived,  and,  despite  the  mud, 
the  rain,  the  pools,  the  wet  leaves,  and  the  slashing 
branches,  his  slouch  hat  almost  concealing  his  face, 
fairly  flew  toward  his  destination,  where  he  arrived 
about  nine  o'clock,  and  learned  that  the  boat,  due  to 
sail  at  ten,  would  not,  on  account  of  some  repairs,  leave 
till  six  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

And  what  a  sight  horse  and  rider  were  as  they  ap- 
peared that  day  before  the  doors  of  a  livery  stable  and 
sought  admission, 

Eobbie  was  wet,  bespattered,  bedraggled,  cold, 
hungry,  and  in  no  very  pleasant  mood.  Dewy  Iris 
was  coated  with  red  and  white  clay,  mixed  with  big 
patches  of  black  mud.  Her  sides  were  working  in  and 
out  like  a  bellows,  and  diffusing  clouds  of  steam  like  a 
resting  locomotive. 

"Specs  you  had  quite  a  chase,"  remarked  a  colored 
hostler,  appearing  in  response  to  Robbie's  halloo,  and 
keeping  his  eyes  on  Dewy  Iris. 

"Feed  her  as  soon  as  she  stops  steaming,"  said  Rob- 
bie "then  groom  her  till  you  get  every  speck  of  mud 
and  every  bit  of  dirt  out  of  her  hair.  Be  careful,  too, 
or  she'll  kick  your  brains  out.  I'll  ^:;  ^-ter  her  before 
five  o'clock." 

"Peart  animal?"  queried  the  negro. 

"Rather!"  said  Robbie.  "If  you  think  ^ou've  got 
anything  in  this  barn  that  can  give  her  dust,  just  say 
to  your  friends  that   I've  got  three  hun-^^ed  dollars 


123  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOSTi. 

right  here,"  tapping  that  side  of  the  vest  where  reposed 
his  money. 

''Dere's  a  gem'man  stoppin'  cross  there  to  the 
tav'rn,  got  two  hosses  inside  says  got  records  of  2:22. 
Rec'on  he'll  chew  updat  money,  ef  yoa  wants  to  lose  it. 
He's  right  ober  dere  now,  ef  yer  wants  ter  see  him." 

Here  he  led  Dewy  Iris  through  the  open  door. 

"All  right,"  answered  Eobbie  cheerily,  "if  there's 
any  game  in  him,  I'll  get  his  money."  With  that  he 
strode  across  the  street,  and  entered  the  main  room  or 
office  of  the  tavern. 

The  little  town  of  Fredericksburg,  between  the  base 
of  a  ridge  of  hills  on  the  right,  and  the  Rappahannock 
River  on  its  left,  nestled  in  its  inanimate  repose  and 
undisturbed  tranquillity.  Tumbling  dissolution  made 
the  walls  of  the  former  business  blocks  and  houses, 
seared  with  shells,  and  blackened  by  fire,  repelling  and 
cheerless.  War,  awful  war,  had  not  wholly  with- 
drawn its  baneful  shadow.  The  former  homes  of  ele- 
gance and  wealth  were  paintless,  fenceless,  and  falling 
with  decay.  Three  or  four  thousand  people  found 
homes  within  its  boundaries,  the  majority  of  whom 
were  members  of  that  helpless  race  the  misdirected 
efforts  of  war  had  thrown  upon  a  hopeless,  impover- 
ished community.  They  stood  on  the  corners,  loafed 
in  the  stores,  and  shambled  along  the  streets,  ragged, 
shoeless,  aimless. 

In  the  town  there  was  then  neither  enterprise  nor 
thrift.  Even  the  marble  shaft  hauled  there  years  ago 
to  commemorate  the  resting   place  of  the  mother  of 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  123 

Washington,  lay  at  the  base  of  the  pedestal,  sinking 
into  the  soft  earth.  The  liveliest  places  in  the  town 
were  the  National  and  Confederate  cemeteries. 

The  hotel,  or  public  house,  Robbie  entered,  was  a 
low,  two-story  brick  building,  standing  somewhat  back 
of  the  mud  road  that  led  before  it  to  the  boat  lauding. 
It  was  conducted  by  a  woman  whose  husband  had 
perished  on  the  battlefield  in  front  of  Marye's  Heights. 
A  horde  of  half-clothed  negro  men  and  women  made 
up  the  "help"  of  the  house. 

At  one  end  of  the  room,  toward  the  east,  was  a  huge 
fireplace,  and  in  it  was  a  pile  of  pine  knots  and  oak  logs, 
all  ablaze.  Three  men,  with  their  chairs  tipped  back, 
sat  before  the  fire.  Behind  the  chimney,  and  in  the  cor- 
ner, a  half-grown,  half -naked  negro  boy  slept  in  un- 
conscious, undisturbed  serenity.  Shiftlessness  marked 
the  whole  interior.  The  blazing  pine  was  the  only 
cheerful  thing  in  sight,  and  toward  it,  extending  his 
hands,  Robbie  moved.  Each  gentleman  "hitched"  his 
chair  a  little  as  he  drew  near,  and  one  of  them,  spare, 
gray-haired,  nice  looking,  dressed  in  black,  with  spot- 
less linen  and  carefully  polished  shoes,  his  wrists 
adorned  with  cuffs,  and  bis  hair  brushed  and  carefully 
curled  into  a  shiny  roll  about  his  neck,  looked  up  and 
said:  "Wet  day,  sir!" 

This  was  an  observation  both  trite  and  true,  but  the 
manner  of  its  delivery  indicated  the  deliverer  a  man  of 
refinement  and  social  instincts.  His  was  a  clear-cut 
but  kind  face.  His  fastidious  dress  and  appearance  in- 
dicated him  not  only  a  man  of  wealth,  but  of  experi- 


124  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

ence,  taste  and  education.  How  true  it  is  that  uncon- 
sciously we  betray  our  birth  and  breeding,  and  this 
man,  to  Robbie's  limited  knowledge  of  the  world,  con- 
veyed the  idea  that  both  were  good.  To  him,  therefore, 
in  spite  of  his  uncomfortable  feelings,  he  addressed  a 
pleasant  but  modest  reply  : 

"Yes,  sir,  wet  riding  and  muddy  traveling." 

**Ride  far?" 

"Fifteen  miles."     He  had  in  fact  ridden  nineteen. 

"Through  this  rain?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  and  your  horse,  sir,  must  be  tired;  heavy 
going,  wasn't  it?" 

"Most  of  the  way  was  very  heavy!" 

"And  your  horse,  sir?"  asked  the  gentleman,  cran- 
ing his  neck  toward  the  window. 

"In  the  barn!"  indicating  by  a  motion  of  the  head 
the  direction. 

"That's  right !  I  like  to  see  a  man  care  for  his  horse 
first!"     This  was  said  very  approvingly. 

"Yes,"  replied  Robbie,  "the  horse  is  faithful  and 
fearless.     I  love  my  horse!" 

If  Robbie  had  known  his  auditor  all  his  life  and 
known  his  foibles  and  his  weaknesses,  and  had  deliber- 
ately planned  some  remark  to  flatter  and  to  please  him 
and  to  win  his  heart,  he  could  have  said  nothing  more 
calculated  to  effect  this  than  what  he  had  just  uttered. 

Quick,  very  quick  for  one  of  his  years,  the  old  man 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  making  a  step  or  two,  seized 
Robbie's  hand. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  125 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  but  your  sentiment  marks  you  a 
youth  of  sense  and  mercy.  Believe  me,  I  am  pleased 
to  meet  you.  Accept  my  friendship,  sir,  and  honor  me 
with  yours  in  return.  Permit  me,  sir,  to  offer  you  my 
card !"  He  handed  Robbie  a  rectangular  piece  of  card- 
board on  which,  printed  in  black  letters,  was : 

"S.  P.  BOWERS, 

"Lancaster,  Pa. 
"Judge  Court  Common  Pleas." 

To  be  noticed  and  commended  by  a  Judge;  to  have 
his  friendship  and  esteem,  you  may  be  sure,  were 
honors  already  Robbie  never  dreamed  to  enjoy.  His 
surprise,  his  pleasure  for  the  moment,  restrained  his 
reply.  His  ready  wit,  however,  came  to  his  aid,  and 
bowing,  he  spake: 

"You  do  me  great  honor,  sir,  by  your  condescension. 
Your  friendship  I  should  prize.  I  sir,  am  poor,  ob' 
scure,  unlearned.  In  the  language  of  Marc  Antony, 
*I  have  neither  wit,  wisdom,  eloquence,  nor  words.' 
My  friendship  would  be  useless  to  a  man  like  you.  I 
have  no  card ;  I  never  saw  one  before.  My  name  is 
Robert  Porter.  I  am  starting  to-day  into  th  e  world  to 
get  a  name  like  yours,  to  seek  a  home  and  win  a  for- 
tune. If  all  my  hopes  become  as  damp  as  my  clothes, 
I  make  no  doubt  that  at  the  end  of  my  journey  I  will 
present  a  sorry  plight !" 

This  little  speech  pleased  Judge  Bowers,  and  so  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  other  gentlemen  that  they 


126  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

could  not  forbear  looking  with  considerable  interest, 
hot  wholly  devoid  of  admiration. 

"Young  man,"  said  the  judge,  "if  I  read  your  face 
rightly,  you  will  be  much  wetter  than  you  are  to-day 
when  you  present  a  sorry  plight.     Where  do  you  go?" 

"To  Baltimore  by  boat;  thence  to  New  York  by 
boat." 

"How  fortunate.  I  leave  by  boat  for  Baltimore  this 
evening.  Going  to  take  home  a  couple  of  brood  mares. 
Got  two  high  steppers  in  the  barn.  Little  old,  but  fast, 
wonderfully  fast.  I  shall  breed  them.  Got  them  out 
here  at  Orange  from  a  friend  of  mine,  located  there  from 
near  Lancaster.  Glad  to  know  we  will  be  fellow-pas- 
sengers.    Engaged  your  stateroom?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Robbie.     "It  costs  a  dollar  extra." 

"So  it  does;  so  it  does.  Well,  share  mine!  Plenty 
room  for  two,  and  I'd  be  glad  of  your  company!" 

"Thank  you,  sir.     Thank  you,  but " 

"No  but  about  it.  Consider  yourself  my  guest. 
Stopping  here?  Well,  dine  with  me  to-day.  Here, 
you  boy!"  pushing  the  chair  leg  of  the  sleeping  negro 
with  his  foot.  "Here,  you  slave  of  Morpheus,  go  tell 
your  mistress  that  Mr.  Porter  dines  with  me,  and  if 
that  boat  doesn't  go  at  six,  sups  with  me  also.  Tell  her 
to  put  his  reckoning  with  mine.  Allow  me,"  turning 
again  to  Robbie,  "sir,  to  consider  myself  fortunate  at 
the  prospect  of  so  agreeable  a  companion.  After  din- 
der  I'll  show  you  my  mares!" 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO    ROOST.  127 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

In  the  company  of  a  man  like  Judge  Bowers,  whose 
conversation  possessed  the  charm  of  elegant  diction,  the 
balance  of  the  morning  soon  passed,  and  the  midday 
meal  was  announced.  Intent  upon  filling  up  space  for 
two  meals  with  what  was  originally  intended  for  one, 
Robbie  took  no  part  in  the  conversation.  While  it  is 
true,  he  listened  attentively  to  all  that  was  said,  his 
youth,  and  perhaps  modesty,  as  well  as  his  hunger,  kept 
him  silent.  The  company,  however,  talked  inces- 
santly. The  Tenure  of  Office  Act,  the  Great  Impeach- 
ment trial,  Reconstruction,  President  Grant,  and, 
lastly,  the  character  of  the  late  president,  Andrew 
Johnson,  and  his  inhumanity  in  not  preventing  the 
hanging  of  Mrs.  Suratt,  charged  with  being  accessory  to 
the  murder  of  President  Lincoln. 

Here  the  talk  waxed  warm,  and  the  judge's  plea  for 
mercy  for  the  woman,  who  he  claimed  was  not 
legally  convicted,  was  received  by  the  majority  with 
neither  grace  nor  favor.  Seeing,  therefore,  that  he  was 
on  the  unpopular  side,  he  looked  across  the  table  ap* 
pealingly  to  our  hero,  and  said : 

"What  say  you,  Mr.  Porter?    Give  us  your  views!" 

To  be  addressed  as  "Mr."  Porter,  and  to  be  referred 
to  for  his  opinion,  was  so  flattering  to  Robbie  that  he 


128  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

hurriedly  swallowed  a  half-masticated  piece  of  boiled 
beef,  and  thus  delivered  himself: 

"Of  the  justice  or  injustice  of  the  execution  of  Mrs. 
Suratt,  I  have  really  never  thought.  Chivalry  will 
always  be  on  the  side  of  woman;  but  it  may  sometimes 
happen  that  the  laws  will  be  exercised  against  the  sins 
of  human  kind,  irrespective  of  sex.  Of  this,  however, 
I  am,  from  my  limited  reading  and  more  limited  ob- 
servation, almost  ready  to  conclude,  that  neither  king 
nor  president,  in  the  administration  of  duties,  will  ever 
win  unqualified  approval.  One-half  the  world  will 
praise  what  he  has  done,  and  the  other  half  denounce 
what  he  has  left  undone.  Appropriately  I  may  here 
observe  the  language  of  Chief  Justice  Storey:  'Perfect 
justice  belongs  to  one  Judgment  Seat  only,  and  that 
which  is  linked  to  the  Throne  of  God.  Human  reason 
seems  powerless  to  attain  it!'  " 

The  entire  assembly  had  listened,  spellbound  with 
astonishment.  Judge  Bowers  jumped  to  his  feet, 
reached  across  the  table,  and  with  undoubted  sincerity 
and  unfeigned  enthusiasm,  said : 

"Your  hand,  sir.  Your  hand!  I  applaud  your 
sentiments.  I  see  you  are  a  youth  of  reading  and  of 
reflection.  I  am  proud,  sir,  to  know  a  man  who  can 
quote  from  Justice  Storey!  Let  us  look  at  the 
horses." 

"There!"  exclaimed  the  judge,  entering  the  stable, 
and  affectionately  laying  his  hand  on  the  rump  of  a 
large,  spare-fleshed  bay  mare,  ''there's  grace  and  speed, 
sir!     There's  blood;  there's  endurance;  trotted  on  the 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  129 

Strasburg  track,  three  in  five,  in  two  twenty-two  only 
a  year  ago!     Oh,  she's  a  goer!" 
'*Good  wind?"  said  Bobbie." 

"Perfect,  sir!  Trot  ten  miles  and  never  turn  a  hair! 
Wonderful,  sir !  wonderful !  Sold  her  colt  last  year  for 
a  thousand  dollars !     Got  your  horse  here?" 

"There  she  is,  sir!"  pointing  to  Dewy  Iris,  at  the 
opposite  side  of  the  stable,  now  groomed  into  passable 
respectability.  Judge  Bowers  eyed  her  from  nose  to 
tail,  from  fetlocks  to  withers. 

"Gentle?" 

"As  a  lamb!" 

"Three  or  four  years  old?" 

"Just  turned  four." 

"Bemarkable  combination  of  coloring!" 

■*Yes;  little  odd." 

■■'Standard?" 

'♦Yes,  sir!" 

♦Begistered?" 

"No!" 

"By  performance,  then?" 

"By  performance." 

"What  track?" 

"On  the  big  road!" 

"Time?" 

"Oh,  about  two  twenty!" 

Judge  Bowers  looked  at  Bobbie  seriously  for  a  min- 
ute, and  seeing  he  was  in  dead  earnest,  said:  "Young 
man,  if  your  mare  can  trot  a  mile  in  two  minutes. and 
twenty  seconds,  I'll  give  you  five  thousand  dollars  for 


130  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

her,  cash,  the  moment  we  can  land  her  in  Lan- 
caster!" 

Five  thousand  dollars  was  really  more  ready  money 
than  Robbie  conceived  to  be  in  the  possession  of  one 
man  at  one  time.  The  magnitude  almost  stunned  him. 
His  friend's  tone,  and  the  expression  of  his  face,  quickly 
assured  him,  however,  that  the  judge  meant  it! 

"Judge  Bowers,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  stranger  to 
me,  but  I  believe  you  are  sincere.  I  will  sell  you  my 
mare.  I  will  undertake  to  deliver  her  safely  into  your 
barn  in  Lancaster,  at  my  own  expense,  but  I  propose  a 
modification  of  your  offer!" 

"Well." 

"The  mare  is  yours.  You  pay  me  in  hand  two  thou- 
sand dollars.  I  will  agree  to  live  in  the  town  where 
you  take  her,  and  drive  her  daily,  and  will  agree  at  any 
time  within  a  year  to  drive  her  one  mile  on  any  track 
you  name,  inside  of  two  minutes  and  eighteen  seconds, 
or  refund  the  two  thousand  dollars  you  advance.  You 
then,  if  I  succeed,  pay  me  the  three  thousand  dollars.'* 

"That's  hardly  the  proposition." 

"Can  your  mare  trot  in  two  twenty-two?" 

"Yes,"  slowly. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  put  up,"  and  here  he  prodaced  his 
wallet,  "three  hundred  against  one  hundred  dollars 
with  any  one  you  name,  and  hitch  up  now,  th*t  I  can 
beat  your  mare  four  seconds,  you  to  be  the  judg6>" 

The  money  was  here  counted,  and  Robbie  had  about 
nine  dollars  remaining. 

Judge  Bowers  was  convinced  that  the  young   man 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  131 

meant  business,  and  knew  exactly  what  he  was  talking 
about;  in  short,  he  had  already  great  confidence  in  Rob- 
bie, and  frankly  and  manfully  spoke:  "I  won't  bet, 
but  I  accept  your  terms  on  one  condition,  that  you  will 
live  in  my  house,  and  take  care  of  the  animal!" 

"Good  schools  and  colleges  there?" 

*'Best  in  the  world!" 

"It's  a  bargain!" 

"It's  a  bargain,"  repeated  the  judge. 

"The  mare  is  yours." 

"The  mare  is  mine,"  said  the  judge.  "Come  across 
to  the  hotel,  and  I  will  draw  a  receipt." 

They  walked  together  across  the  street.  Judge 
Bowers  opened  his  valise,  took  therefrom  a  sheet  of 
paper,  a  small,  rectangular  book,  and  going  to  the  desk, 
wrote  on  a  leaf  in  the  little  book  a  check  for  two  thou- 
sand dollars,  on  the  Lancaster  National  Bank,  payable 
to  the  order  of  Robert  Porter,  Esq.,  signed  his  name, 
and  wrote  a  bill  as  follows : 

"Fredericksburg,  Va.,  Nov.  5,  1869. 
"S.  P.  Bowers, 

"To  Robert  Porter,  Dr. 
''To  one   mare,    four-year  old,  known  as   Dewy  Iris, 
$5,000. 
"Rec'd  on  acct.  two  thousand  dollars." 

He  handed  Robbie  the  bill,  and  when  it  was  signed, 
handed  him  the  check. 

Robbie  had  never  seen  a  check  on  a  bank  before  in 
his  life,  but  he  made  no  doubt  it  was  just  the  same 
as  money. 


132  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

"Now,"  said  the  judge,  "perhaps  we  had  better  have 
a  little  written  agreement  between  us." 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  replied  Eobbie,  "I  will 
take  your  word.  I  never  want  to  do  business  with  a 
man  whose  word  is  not  as  sacred  as  his  writing." 

"Good!"  said  the  judge.     "I  trust  you,  sir!" 

"I  trust  you  also,  and  to  show  you  that  I  do,  take 
back  the  check.  Keep  it  for  me  till  the  day  I  complete 
my  part  of  the  contract,"  Robbie  replied,  and  handed 
back  the  check. 

This  act  completed  Judge  Bowers'  estimate  of  Robert 
Porter,  He  saw  in  him  a  frank,  confiding,  yet  resolute 
youth,  whose  purpose  once  formed,  would,  in  all  human 
probability,  be  executed.  He  already  felt  that,  bar- 
Ting  the  death  of,  or  accident  to,  Dewy  Iris,  he  would 
have  to  pay  that  three  thousand  dollars. 

In  Judge  Bowers,  Robbie  found  a  man  whom  he  could 
trust.  His  kind  face,  his  good  sentiments,  his  position 
in  the  world,  his  apparent  indifference  to  a  sum  like 
iive  thousand  dollars,  his  absorbing  passion  for  horses, 
hia  knowledge  of  them,  his  elegance  of  manner,  his 
ease  and  grace  of  language,  his  liberal  but  sincere  flat- 
tery, his  dress,  his  generous  invitation  to  dine  with  him, 
his  condescension,  his  attentiveness,  captured  Robbie 
completely.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  his  new 
friend  had  acted  in  a  highly  eccentric  manner;  that 
his  conduct  was  not  that  of  a  practical,  hard-headed 
business  man.  On  the  contrary,  Robbie  regarded  the 
iudge  as  one  of  a  type  of  which  the  world  was  full,  and 
he  fondly  imagined  that  all   of  his  business  in  the 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST.  133^ 

future  would  be  with  men  like  S.  P.  Bowers.  For 
fairness,  for  honesty,  for  goodness,  he  even  placed  him 
above  his  Uncle  Phineas,  whom  he  had  always  re- 
garded till  now  as  the  most  perfect  man  on  earth. 

"Surely,"  he  thought,  "the  world  is  full  of  good 
men."  Phineas  Strong  was  the  first  one  he  had  ever 
met;  Judge  Bowers  was  the  last.  He  did  not  think 
of  this  now,  but  it  came  to  him  in  after  years. 


134  CHICKENS   COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

At  five  o'clock,  Judge  Bowers,  Robbie  Porter  and 
Dewy  Iris  were  passengers  on  the  Baltimore  steamer, 
and  it  was  moving  gracefully  from  the  landing  to  the 
middle  of  the  Rappahannock.  Robbie  and  his  friend 
stood  upon  the  upper  deck  aft  of  the  ladies'  saloon. 

"It  was  about  at  this  spot,"  said  Robbie,  "that  we 
crossed  the  river  on  December  12,  1862,  under  General 
French." 

"And  did  you  see  the  battle  of  Fredericksburg?" 
queried  the  judge. 

"I  was  in  it." 

"In  it?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?'* 

"Carried  a  drum,  and  beat  it  in  every  charge  up 
Marye's  Heights  yonder.  Went  up  six  times,  and 
came  back,  and  that's  more  than  many  can  say.  My 
father,  sir,  carried  the  company's  colors,  and  once  got 
it  planted  on  a  rebel  battery.  He  was  knocked  down 
with  a  gun,  and  the  flag  thrown  after  him.  I  picked 
it  up,  and  waved  it  till  pap  got  his  breath,  and  then  we 
were  ordered  to  retreat.  I  could  have  walked  back  to 
the  river  on  dead  soldiers,  but  as  we  all  ran  pretty  fast, 
I  often  fell  down  between  them.     Pap  lost  the  colors— 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  135 

staff  and  flag  shot  to  fragments;  lost  his  cap;  a  piece  of 
shell  cut  off  his  left  trouser  leg  just  below  the  knee  as 
nice  as  you  could  have  done  it  with  shears ;  another 
knocked  the  heel  and  nearly  all  the  sole  off  of  his 
right  shoe,  and  a  minie  ball  bored  a  hole  through  my 
right  leg,  the  marks  of  which  are  still  to  be  seen.  My 
shoe  was  full  of  blood  when  we  were  ordered  to  halt. 
Pap  answered  to  roll  call  that  night,  and  I  stood  by 
his  side!" 

^'Merciful  Heavens!"  said  the  judge;  "and  you  saw 
all  that?    Why,  you  must  have  been  a  child !" 

"About  twelve!" 

"And  they  allowed  you  in  battle?" 

"No,  sir.  They  didn't  allow  it,  but  I  was  in  it. 
Wherever  pap  went,  I  went.  I  ran  away  when  he 
enlisted,  and  followed  him  through  the  war — till " 

"Till  when?" 

"Till  he  was  killed  at  Chancellorsville, "  said  Rob^ 
bie,  suppressing  the  emotion  which  the  recollection  of 
the  event  seemed  momentarily  to  cause. 

"My  only  son,"  said  the  judge,  "lost  his  life  in  the 
battle  of  Fredericksburg.  He  was  a  lieutenant  in  the 
Ninety-seventh  Pennsylvania  Volunteers,  and  was 
among  the  first  to  fall." 

"Many  a  brave  man  went  down  that  day,  never  to 
rise  again!"  sympathetically  replied  the  boy,  "Why, 
Burnside  lost  thirteen  thousand  men  in  that  battle!" 

"Awful,  sir,  awful!"  said  the  judge.  "And  to  think 
of  you  being  a  witness — being  in  it,  why,  sir,  you  are 
a  hero; — and  did  your  leg  get  well?" 


136  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 

"Oh,  yes!  Didn't  bother  me  much.  Bathed  it  that 
night  in  the  cold  waters  of  the  river,  tied  it  up  with 
rags,  and  carried  the  same  drum  for  four  days  in  the 
battle  of  Chancellorsville.  There  it  was  filled  full  of 
bullet  holes,  and  so  broken  that  I  had  to  let  it  go." 

"And  were  you  injured  in  that  battle?" 

"Oh,  only  knocked  down  a  few  times.  My  father, 
however,  received  a  wound  on  the  last  day  that  caused 
his  death  the  day  after,  from  loss  of  blood." 

"Terrible!  Awful!  Awful!"  said  the  judge.  "And 
were  you  in  other  battles?" 

"That  was  the  last  one,  but  I  was  in  ten  battles;  and 
I  guess  I  have  seen  ten  thousand  dead  soldiers!" 

"Is  it  possible?    You  don't  say  so!" 

"Yes!"  went  on  Robbie,  "and  our  armies  were 
whipped  in  every  one  of  them.  We  had  brave  soldiers, 
but  poor  generals." 

"How  about  McClellan?" 

"He  was  great  on  a  retreat." 

"Well,  you  know  the  old  saying, 

"  '  He  who  fights  and  runs  away, 
May  live  to  fight  another  day.'  " 

*'I've  heard  that;  but  my  experience  is  that 

"  '  He  who  fights  and  runs  away, 
Is  a/rmd  to  fight  another  day.' " 

"Well,  now,"  said  the  judge,  laughing,  "there  may 
he  something  in  that;  but  the  Union  general?  won  some 
battles." 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  137 

"Didn't  win  any  that  I  saw.  They  were  too  slow. 
Lee  and  Jackson  generally  got  us  on  the  run  before 
they  stopped  fighting!" 

"How  about  Gettysburg?" 

"I  didn't  see  that  fight,"  said  Robbie,  "but  from 
what  I  have  heard  about  it,  the  Confederates  did  the 
fighting  and  the  Union  army  the  resisting!" 

"But  it  was  called  a  great  victory  by  General 
Meade." 

"Well,"  said  Robbie,  "if  I  should  try  and  throw  you 
overboard,  and  you,  by  getting  behind  the  rail  there, 
and  hanging  on  to  the  ropes,  should  thwart  my  pur- 
pose, I  suppose  you  could  go  home  and  tell  about  your 
victory;  but  if  in  saving  yourself,  you  succeeded  in 
killing  me,  or  tossing  me  overboard,  you  would  feel 
more  like  claiming  a  victory,  would  you  not?" 

"To  be  sure,"  said  the  judge;  "but  many  of  the 
Southerners  were  killed!" 

"True,  but  we  lost  twenty-three  thousand  men;  the 
Confederates  twenty  thousand,  and  Lee  was  allowed  to 
escape  by  Meade,  just  as  McClellan  suffered  him  to  do 
at  Antietam.  Had  Grant  commanded  at  either  place 
he  would  have  annihilated  the  Confederate  army." 

"Why,  you  don't  think  Grant  a  great  general,  do 
you?"  asked  the  judge  in  a  surprised  tone.  "I  regard 
him  as  a  merciless  butcher!" 

"Some  day,"  said  Robbie,  "when  a  calmer  judgment 
makes  up  the  verdict,  the  greatest  military  hero  of  the 
last  war  will  be  conceded  to  be  Ulysses  S.  Grant.  He 
is  greater  than  Caesar,  greater  than  Hannibal,  greater 


138  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

than  Alexander,  greater  than  Frederick,  greater  than 
INapoleon,  greater  than  Wellington.  He  fought,  or 
directed,  sixty -eight  battles  in  the  war  and  won  them 
all.  Measured  by  his  successes,  he  is  the  greatest  mili- 
tary genius  that  ever  lived  in  any  clime  or  in  any  age. 
He  never  stopped  fighting  as  long  as  there  was  anything 
to  fight,  and  he  is  the  only  general  in  all  history  that 
never  lost  a  battle.  Some  day,  sir,  his  monument  will 
pierce  the  clouds." 

"I  admire  your  frankness,"  said  the  judge,  "but 
don't  indorse  your  sentiments.  At  any  rate,  it  was  a 
glorious  war,  and  it  did  a  great  thing  for  humanity!" 
"There  was  a  time,  sir,  when  I  so  thought;  but  now, 
I  am  convinced  that  Glory  was  the  only  redeeming  part 
of  the  war!" 

"But,  sir,  it  preserved  the  Union,  and  abolished 
slavery." 

"Yes,  that  it  did  those  two  things,"  replied  Eobbie, 
"I  am  willing  to  concede;  but  of  just  what  particular 
benefit  those  things  are  to  you  or  me,  or  even  to  the 
freed  slave,  I  have,  I  confess,  never  been  able  to  see." 

"Why,  you  astonish  me,"  said  the  judge.  "No 
benefit  to  preserve  the  Union;  no  benefit  to  abolish 
slavery?  Why,  surely,  young  man,  you  cannot,  you 
do  not  mean  that?" 

"The  Union,"  replied  Eobbie,  "because  of  the 
diversity  of  interests,  of  tastes  and  customs,  will  some 
day  be  dismembered,  and  what  is  now  apparently  a 
restored  and  harmonized  Eepublic  will  some  day  be  a 
half-dozen  kingdoms  or  republics.     The  slave  is  worse 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  139 

off  in  his  freedom,  more  ragged,  more  helpless,  more 
immoral,  than  ever  he  was  in  his  bondage.  Sentiment 
made  him  free,  but  sentiment  does  not  employ  him  nor 
support  him.  Men  who  laid  down  their  lives  for  him 
on  the  field  of  battle,  would  not,  if  they  now  lived,  ad- 
mit him  to  either  their  tables  or  their  beds.  Besides, 
sir,  the  war  has  literally  ruined  one-third  of  the  Repub- 
lic, and  for  the  next  thirty  years  its  effects  will  keep 
the  South,  with  all  its  natural  and  abundant  re- 
sources, on  the  verge  of  poverty.  The  bitterness  engen- 
dered by  fraternal  strife  will  continue  for  generations; 
for  fifty  years  to  come,  in  words  and  thoughts,  the  war 
will  be  fought  over  and  over  again.  In  my  judgment 
the  war  was  worse  than  slavery;  worse  than  a  dismem- 
bered Union.  'Glory,'  said  Sir  Walter  Scott,  'is  the 
faded  hatchment  that  hangs  over  the  warrior's  dim  and 
moldering  tomb,'  but  that  is  the  only  consolation  the 
war  has  left  to  the  survivors  of  the  victims !" 

At  this  speech,  delivered  by  Robbie  with  the  enthusi- 
asm of  youth  and  the  vehemence  of  the  truth  he  felt. 
Judge  Bowers  was  very  much  surprised.  He  did  not 
attempt  a  reply ;  but  observing  that  the  night  air  was 
chilly,  begged  to  be  excused  for  the  evening.  Request- 
ing Robbie  to  look  after  the  horses,  and  share  the  upper 
berth  of  his  stateroom,  the  good  man  pleasantly  with- 
drew. 


140  CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Robbie,  after  wondering  for  a  moment  if  he  had 
offended  the  judge,  and  wishing  that  he  had  been  more 
guarded,  proceeded  to  the  lower  deck  and  carefully  in- 
spected his  charges.  Giving  each  a  bunch  of  hay,  he 
proceeded  to  examine  every  part  of  the  boat.  This 
completed,  he  entered  the  stateroom  occupied  by  his 
friend,  and  heard  him  read  as  he  opened  the  door : 

"And  John  beheld  a  white  horse." 

*'Just  in  time,"  said  the  judge.  "Always  read  a 
chapter  in  the  Bible  before  I  retire.  Wonderful  book, 
is  the  Bible.  Do  you  read  the  Bible?  Good  church- 
goer, I  hope,  and  a  Christian?" 

To  these  queries  Robbie  made  no  haste  to  reply. 
Not  liking  to  offend  his  friend,  as  he  was  afraid  he 
might  should  he  answer  truthfully,  he  at  first  was  in- 
clined to  be  evasive;  but  reflecting  that  for  the  next 
year  this  man  would  no  doubt  see  him  daily,  he  con- 
cluded that  he  had  better  be  frank.  Therefore,  looking 
the  judge  full  and  fair  in  the  face  he  said : 

"I  have  read  some  of  the  Bible,  but  I  have  never 
read  it  through.  I  have  not,  to  my  knowledge,  ever 
been  in  a  place  of  worship.  In  a  correct  sense,  I  am 
not  a  Christian." 

"But  you  believe  the  Bible?  believe  in  Revelation? 
Believe  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ?" 


CHfCKEffS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  141 

*'To  be  fair,  sir,  I  am  afraid  I  believe  in  neitber  or 
none  of  tbese  tbings." 

Judge  Bowers  dropped  bis  book  and  stared:  "Don'fc 
believe!"  be  said.  '"Don't  believe  tbat  Jesus  died  for 
us!  My  dear  young  man,  bave  you  a  Bible?  None,  I 
dare  say!  Well,  I'll  buy  you  one  to-morrow;  read  it, 
my  boy,  read  it.  You  are  too  intelligent  not  to  be  im- 
pressed. It  will  open  your  eyes,  and  sbow  you  bow  to 
avoid  bell  and  attain  beaven." 

"Of  beaven  or  bell,"  said  Robbie,  "I  also  know 
notbing.  At  present  no  reason  for  tbe  existence  of 
either  appears  to  me.  I  would  abolish  both.  If  tbe 
object  of  beaven  is  happiness,  man  may  be  happy  here. 
If  the  purpose  of  hell  is  punishment,  man  may  be  pun- 
ished here.  It  is  repugnant  to  my  ideas  that  man  can 
be  so  bad  that  God  will  punish  him  forever  in  bell. 
Nor  do  I  conceive  that  a  God,  however  wise  and  good, 
can  create  a  place  where  eternal  or  perfect  happiness 
may  exist.  Something,  some  time,  would  happen  and 
some  misery  would  prevail.  My  idea  is  to  so  live  while 
here  that  I  will  avoid  punishment  and  attain  happiness. 
To  my  mind  any  scheme  of  religion  that  fails  to  help  us 
in  this  is  a  failure.  I  very  much  question  any  plan,  the 
chief  purpose  of  which  is  to  assure  benefits  beyond  the 
grave,  for  I  am  now  fully  persuaded  that  the  capacity 
to  enjoy  after  death  is  very  limited." 

*'The  spirit,  my  dear  boy,  tbe  spirit  is  that  which 
lives  and  suffers,  or  is  happy.  You  have  an  immortal 
soul  that  never  dies." 

"This,"  said  Robbie,  "I  have  often  heard  before,  but 


142  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

the  reason,  or  argument  for  it,  I  have  never  been  able 
to  appreciate." 

"But  you  want  to  live  forever,  don't  you?" 

"As  to  what  I  want,"  replied  Robbie,  "will  not  alter 
the  fact,  nor  solve  the  question.  When  for  me  life  has 
lost  its  charm,  I  imagine  I  would  rather  die.  What 
the  rest  of  mankind  may  desire  can  in  no  manner  affect 
me.  My  personal  opinion,  which  it  seems  you  desire  I 
should  express  on  the  subject,  is  that  man  has  no  soul, 
no  spirit,  as  you  call  it,  and  that  when  he  dies  his  con- 
sciousness dies  also.  To  quote  from  the  Book  whose 
perusal  you  so  earnestly  recommend:  'There  is  no 
knowledge,  nor  wisdom,  nor  device  in  the  grave 
whither  thou  goest.  For  that  which  befalleth  the  sons 
of  men  befalleth  beasts;  even  one  thing  befalleth  them; 
as  the  one  dieth,  so  dieth  the  other;  yea,  they  have  all 
one  breath ;  so  that  a  man  hath  no  pre-eminence  above 
a  beast :  for  all  is  vanity.  All  go  unto  one  place,  all 
are  of  the  dust,  and  all  turn  to  dust  again.'  " 

The  judge  was  not  only  shocked  but  nearly  dum- 
founded.  He  deplored  Robbie's  lost  condition,  prom- 
ised that  on  the  morrow  he  would  explain  the  passage 
just  quoted,  and  concluded  the  evening  by  reading  the 
thirteenth  chapter  of  Corinthians. 

As  Robbie  lay  there  in  his  berth,  listening  to  the 
sighing  wind  and  hearing  now  and  then  the  splashing 
waves  against  the  steamer's  sides,  these  words  of  the 
chapter  kept  ringing  in  his  ears : 

"Though  I  speak  with  the  tongues  of  men  and  of 
angels,  and  have  not  charity,  I  am  become  as  a  sound- 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST.  143 

ing  brass  and  as  a  tinkliDg  cymbal;  and  though  I  have 
the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  understand  all  mysteries  and 
all  knowledge,  and  though  I  have  all  faith  so  that  I 
could  remove  mountains,  and  have  not  charity,  I  am 
nothing." 

He  fell  asleep,  deeply  impressed  with  the  beauty  of 
the  words.  When  he  awoke,  the  paddle  wheels  of  the 
steamer  were  stirring  up  the  aromatic  mud  that  forms 
the  bed  of  the  Patapsco  River. 


J  44  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Mounted  upon  Dewy  Iris,  and  leading  by  her  side 
the  two  brood  mares,  Robbie  made  his  way  from  the 
landing  along  one  of  the  crowded  streets  of  Baltimore. 
Judge  Bowers  proceeded  on  foot  a  little  in  advance,  and 
directed  the  way.  Arrived  at  the  freight  depot,  ar- 
rangements for  the  transportation  of  the  horses,  with 
Robbie  as  attendant,  were  completed.  They  were 
placed  carefully  and  securely  in  a  car.  One  end  Robbie 
arranged  for  himself.  Hay,  oats,  and  a  barrel  of  water 
were  supplied,  and  to  his  surprise  and  delight  Judge 
Bowers  announced  his  intention  of  accompanying  Rob- 
bie and  the  horses  in  the  car.  It  being  nearly  noon, 
and  the  train  being  scheduled  to  depart  at  six,  and  both 
gentlemen  being  hungry,  they  repaired  to  a  modest 
eating  house.  Completing  his  meal,  Robbie  signified 
his  intention  of  seeing  something  of  the  city.  To  this 
proposition  the  judge  assented,  requesting  him  to  be 
at  the  car  before  six,  where,  said  his  good-natured  and 
good  hearted  friend :  "I  will  have  a  blanket  for  myself, 
and  a  Bible  for  you,  a  box  to  sit  on,  a  candle  to  give 
light,  and  a  lunch  to  eat.  Don*t  get  lost,  and  be 
careful." 

Robbie  had  proceeded  a  little  distance  when  a  placard, 
on  which  was  written,  "Four  tintypes  for  fifty  cents," 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME    TO    ROOST.  145 

attracted  bis  attention.  He  entered  the  photographer's 
and  sat  for  his  picture.  This  done,  and  the  four  tin- 
types in  his  possession,  he  immediately  selected  what 
he  conceived  the  best  reproduction;  bought  of  the 
operator  an  envelope  and  a  sheet  of  paper.  On  the 
former  he  wrote : 

"PHCEBE    STRONG, 
"Richardsville, 

''Culpepper  Co.,  Va." 
On  the  latter  this : 

"Dearest  Phcebe:  Just  arrived  in  Baltimore. 
Met  in  Fredericksburg  a  Judge  Bowers,  of  Lancaster, 
Pa.  He  has  bought  Dewy  Iris  for  five  thousand  dol- 
lars. He  has  paid  me  two  thousand  dollars,  and  will 
pay  me  the  balance  on  the  day  within  a  year  that  I 
drive  Dewy  Iris  a  mile  in  harness  in  two  minutes  and 
eighteen  seconds.  As  I  once  drove  her  in  two  minutes 
and  fifteen  seconds  on  the  big  road,  thee  can  see  that  I 
am  certain  of  the  money,  unless  DeAvy  Iris  dies.  I 
am  to  live  with  the  judge  during  the  time  and  have 
charge  of  her.  I  am  to  have  my  board,  and  be  allowed 
to  go  to  school,  in  exchange  for  my  services  in  caring 
for  and  driving  Iris. 

*'This  judge,  Phoebe,  is  nice  looking,  educated, 
refined,  generous,  about  sixty-eight,  rich,  and  has 
two  hobbies — the  Bible  and  race  horses.  He  knows 
the  former  from  cover  to  cover,  and  the  name  of 
every  trotting  horse  from  Ariel  to  General  Taylor, 
and  from  George  M.  Patchen  to  Dexter  and  Flora 
Temple.  He  claims  to  own  the  fastest  horses  in  Penn- 
sylvania. 

"Dearest,    sweetest  Phoebe,  I  will  study  hard,  and 


146  CHICKENS  COME  HOME   TO   ROOST. 

will  come  back  and  we  will  be  married  in  the  Quaker 
way,  with  just  Uncle  Pbineas  and  Aunt  Eachel  for 
witnesses.  Give  my  love  to  them ;  remember  me  to  all 
the  help.  Phoebe,  I  am  going  to  study  law,  and  get  to 
be  a  judge.  I  enclose  my  picture.  Please,  Phoebe, 
get  some  taken  when  thee  is  next  in  Fredericksburg 
and  send  one  to  me,  so  that  I  may  always  have  before 
my  eyes  the  face  of  one  whose  image  is  ever  in  my 
mind,  and  whose  affection  I  hope  always  to  possess. 
"Oh,  Phoebe,  I  cannot  write  my  love,  but  thee,  thee 
knows  it!  It  will  outlive  the  tongue  that  thus  feebly 
tries  to  express  it.  My  heart  beats  quicker  when  I 
think  of  thee,  and  as  thee  is  seldom  out  of  my  thoughts, 
my  heart  is  always  thumping  against  my  ribs.  "Write 
to  me,  Phoebe.  "W  rite  to  me  at  once.  I  am  not,  after 
all,  far  away,  and,  in  spirit,  be  assured,  I  will  still 
clasp  thy  hand,  and  always  be  within  the  sound  of 
the  music  of  thy  voice.  I'arewell,  sweet  love.  The 
memory  of  thy  goodness  will  be  the  inspiration  of  my 
life,  and  in  the  end  help  me  to  the  last  round  in  the 
ladder  of  fame. 

*' Thine  ever  loving, 

"Robbie. 
**  Address 

"Care  Judge  Boweks, 

"Lancaster,  Pa." 

This  written,  and  inclosed  with  the  tintype,  was, 
after  much  inquiry,  deposited  in  the  post  office,  and 
Robbie  strolled  about  the  city.  It  was  Wednesday. 
The  clouds  had  all  disappeared,  and  the  November 
sun  shone  clear  and  warm. 

Attracted  by  a  crowd  of  gayly  dressed  people,  princi- 
pally ladies,  who  seemed  to  be  struggling  for  admission 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST  147 

to  a  large  building,  he  also  drew  near,  and  from  a  sign 
which  adorned  one  side  of  the  entrance,  he  learned  that 
the  place  was  a  theater,  and  that  a  performance  would 
take  place  that  afternoon.  The  play  announced  was 
the  *'Lady  of  Lyons." 

In  a  Fifth  Reader  at  River  View  Robbie  had  read  an 
extract  from  this  very  play.  A  desire  to  read  it  all 
had  long  been  cherished.  Here  was  an  opportunity 
that  might  never  again  be  enjoyed.  He  could  not  only 
hear  the  piece  repeated,  but  could  behold  the  imperson- 
ations of  the  characters,  and  witness  the  passionate, 
pathetic  scenes  between  Claude  and  Pauline.  The 
size  and  elegance  of  the  crowd  urging  admittance 
argued  not  only  the  popularity  of  the  piece,  but  the 
genius  of  those  who  were  to  present  it.  Following  the 
line,  therefore,  he  was  soon  face  to  face  with  the  ticket 
seller.  Much  to  his  surprise  he  was  told  that  all  seats 
Were  sold,  that  only  standing  room  could  be  had.  The 
crush  was  now  so  great  that  a  man  appeared  and  an- 
nounced in  a  loud  voice  that  the  house  was  full,  and 
no  more  admissions  for  that  performance  would  be 
taken.  The  ticket  seller  closed  his  window.  Those 
whose  forethought  had  induced  them  to  purchase  tickets 
in  advance  continued  smilingly  to  enter  the  place, 
while  the  others,  frowning  and  pouting,  slowly  and 
sullenly  turned  away.  Robbie  joined  the  latter,  feeling 
rather  disappointed. 

He  had  reached  the  sidewalk  when  a  man  approached 
and  asked  him  if  he  would  like  to  purchase  a  seat  for 
the  performance.     Inasmuch  as  he  had  just  heard  the 


148  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

seats  were  all  sold,  the  query  was  not  a  little  surprising. 
The    man,  however,  assured    him  that  he  had  actually 
one  seat  in  an  upper  box  of  which  he  wished  to  dispose. 
He  offered  it  for  four  dollars,  saying  that  it  had  cost 
him  five.     It  was  an  extravagant  and  unheard-of  price, 
yet  I  think  Robbie  would  have  parted  just  then  with 
double  the  sum,  so  keen  was  his  desire  to  see  the  play. 
He,  therefore,  fearing  some  one  else  would  offer  more, 
produced  four  dollars,  secured  the  coveted  ticket,  and 
in  a  few  moments,  just  as  the  curtain  was  rising,  was 
led  into  a  box,  beautifully  decorated,  hung  with  silken 
curtains,  furnished  with  upholstered  chairs,  and  already 
partly  occupied  by  three  ladies;  two  young,  very  pretty, 
and   richly  dressed;  the  third,    middle-aged,    dressed 
in  black,  gray-haired,  pleasant  in  face,  and  perfect  in 
feature.     What  they  thought  at  the  entrance  of  Robbie, 
I  am  not  prepared  to  say.     What  they  looked  plainly 
indicated  displeasure.     The  noses  of  the  three  turned 
up  perceptibly,  and  the  two  yeung  ladies  deliberately 
turned  their  backs  to  our  hero.     One  drew  her  skirts 
close  to  her  chair,  as  he  took  the  vacant  seat  at  her  side. 
Robbie  wore  neither  collar  nor  tie.     His  hair  was 
long  and  fell  in  waves  and  curls  around  his  neck  and 
over  his  coat  collar.     His  trousers  were  tucked  into  the 
legs  of  his  top  boots.     His  coat  was  plain,   vest  and 
trousers  of  the  same  material,  good,  but  of  a  style  and 
make  suggestive  of  long  ago.     His  brown  hat,  crushed 
and  mud-stained,  rested  idly  in  his  bare,  rough  hands, 
and  from  his  person  I  have  no  doubt  there  floated  a  well- 
defined  aroma  of  Dewy  Iris  I 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  14:9 

Upon  the  rising  curtain  and  the  brilliant  scene 
around  him  Robbie  was  already  intent. 

What  a  magnificent  spectacle  of  bewildering  gowns 
and  bright  faces.  The  elite  and  fashion  of  all  Balti- 
more were  before  him.  There  were  the  Misses  Gar- 
refcts,  and  there  the  Misses  Reynolds.  In  one  box  were 
the  Passmores,  and  in  another  the  Fultons.  The  rich 
Supplesses  and  the  powerful  Latrobes  were  all  repre- 
sented in  that  gorgeous  galaxy  of  rich  costumes  and  ani- 
mated, expectant  countenances. 

It  was  indeed  a  testimonial  to  one  of  Baltimore's 
beautiful  daughters,  once,  and  then,  &  petted  idol,  and 
the  most  charming  of  all  the  impersonators  of  Pauline. 

The  house  was  heavy  with  the  perfume  of  rose?. 
The  beautiful  Pauline,  in  the  person  of  Katie  Bateman ; 
— yes,  it  was  no  less  than  the  divine,  the  sylph -like,  the 
young,  the  brilliant  Katie  Bateman,  who  had  already 
heard  the  tumultuous  plaudits  of  kings  and  princes, 
lords  and  dukes,  queens  and  duchesses ; — no  sooner  made 
her  appearance,  than  the  whole  house  began  such  a 
clapping  of  hands  as  to  stop  her  speech,  while  around 
her  fell  a  shower  of  roses  that  for  a  moment  concealed 
from  the  eyes  of  her  admiring  audience  her  lovely 
form. 

And,  reader,  if  thou  hast  never  seen  Katie  Bateman, 
thou  hast  never  seen  a  real  impassioned  Pauline.  This 
day  she  seemed  to  play  the  part  with  even  greater  vigor 
and  sweeter  grace  thua  ever  before.  Her  Olauda 
was,  I  think,  Lester  Wallack,  but  of  that  Robbie  was 
never  quite  certain.     To  Pauline,  however,  his  atten- 


JSO  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

tion  was  given  entirely.  He  fancied  she  was  Phoebe, 
and  imagined  himself  as  the  low-born  gardener's  son, 
who  had  feasted  for  years  upon  the  object  of  bis  pas- 
sion, till  at  last  her  "image  had  become  glassed  in  his 
soul,"  and  he  could  no  longer  resist  the  impulses  of  his 
heart. 

How  this  play  impressed  itself  upon  the  mind  of  this 
Virginia  country  boy!  How  absorbed  he  became;  how 
real  to  him  were  all  the  scenes,  all  the  situations;  how 
he  longed  for  an  eloqvieuce  like  Claude ;  and  how  lie 
resolved,  ere  the  performance  had  concluded,  to  join 
the  army,  hope  for  another  ivar — "just  one  more,"  be 
thought,  so  that  he  might  win  a  dozen  battles,  and  re- 
turn with  epaulets,  a  shining  sword,  a  brilliant  coat, 
and  lead  his  graceful  Phoebe  forth  to  the  musical 
marches  of  a  minuet,  in  a  magnificent  ballroom,  where 
every  tongue  would  praise  his  prowess  and  every  eye 
would  follow  his  form.  He  would  feel  at  last  that  he 
was  worthy  of  even  so  perfect,  so  divine,  so  good  a 
creature  as  his  noble  Phoebe. 

"But,  alas!"  he  thought,  "Phoebe  hated  war,  and, 
perhaps,  after  all,  he  could  do  something  besides  kill 
men  in  battle,  and  be  just  as  great  as  being  a  general 
in  the  army." 

But  the  play  and  its  chief  character  he  never  forgot. 
The  Quaker  prejudices  of  the  theater,  which  for  more 
than  seven  years  he  had  been  taught  to  cultivate,  faded 
away,  never  to  return.  In  their  place  came  a  love  and 
admiration  for  the  playhouse  that  grew  and  flourished 
as  time  advanced.     He  left  the  theater  regretting  that 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  151 

he  could  not  upon  canvas  immortalize  the  beauty  of 
this  favored  young  actress.  Tradition,  however,  has 
preserved  the  memory  of  her  achievements,  and  litera- 
ture, in  a  measure,  added  additional  luster  to  her  name. 
It  v^as  his  hope  that  she,  and  hundreds  of  others  whom 
he  saw  in  after  years,  might  preserve  by  their  power 
and  their  dignity  the  beauty  and  the  charm  that  linger 
around  the  stage.  Happy  in  their  chosen  work,  en- 
thused and  intoxicated  with  the  tumult  of  popular  ap- 
plause, may  they  yet,  like  Miss  Bateman,  become  and 
remain  virtuous  wives  and  noble  mothers,  and  under 
the  summer  skies  of  happiness,  move  onward  to  the 
shining  sea.  Success. 

Robbie  departed,  charmed  with  the  entertainment, 
and  bewildered  by  its  brilliant  assemblage.  He  had 
forgotten  his  plain  costume,  his  gloveless  hands,  and 
collarless  neck.  He  was  in  a  dream.  He  only  awoke 
when  he  entered  the  freight  car  where  the  horses  were, 
and  heard  Judge  Bowers  read : 

*'And  I  John  beheld  a  white  horse!" 


152  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

And  what,  after  all,  a  character  this  man  Bowers 
seemed  to  be.  All  of  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's 
side,  and  hence  he  was  odd.  He  continually  attracted 
attention  and  excited  remark.  He  would  quote  a  pas- 
sage from  the  Bible,  and  slide  gracefully  from  its  sacred 
pages  to  the  trotting  record  of  Captain  McGowan, 
General  Bntler,  Dexter,  or  Julia  Aldrich. 

He  was  now  seated  upon  a  soap  box,  and  by  the  aid 
of  a  tallow-candle  light,  reading  a  passage  of  Holy 
Writ.  While  Robbie  loitered  at  the  theater,  the  judge 
had  been  industrious.  In  a  corner  of  the  car,  with  the 
aid  of  the  hay,  and  some  newly  purchased  horse 
blankets,  he  had  arranged  two  very  inviting  beds. 
Upon  another  soap  box  he  had  spread  a  large  pie,  a 
segment  of  yellow  cheese,  some  frush  rolls,  a  jar  of 
milk,  a  can  of  raw  oysters,  a  paper  of  salt,  another  of 
pepper,  and  an  iron,  two-tined  fork.  On  one  end  of 
Ihe  box,  and  near  the  pie  lay  a  brand-new  Bible,  in  a 
black,  expensive  binding. 

"There!"  said  the  judge,  as  he  laid  down  his  book, 
took  off  his  glasses,  and  wiped  them,  "I  expect  that  is 
the  greatest  book  ever  written.  My  friend,  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  to  buy  you  a  volume.  I  have  written 
your  name  in  it,  as  a  present  from  me.     Accept  it,  and 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  153 

promise  me  you  will  read  it  through.  Commence  to- 
night, and  read  it  every  night  as  long  as  you  live. 
Will  you  promise  to  read  every  word  of  it?" 

"I  will,"  replied  Robbie. 

"Well,  give  the  horses  their  suppers  and  eat  your 
own.  We'll  be  starting  soon.  There's  a  cask  of  water 
near  Dewy  Iris — what  a  wonder  she'll  be — Dexter  and 
the  Dutchman  will  fade  from  the  history  of  the  turf 
after  next  August." 

Here  he  broke  out  with:  "When  the  roll  is  called 
up  yonder,  I'll  be  there,"  etc. 

Robbie  fed  the  horses,  ate  his  supper,  and  was  just 
beginning  to  gather  up  the  fragments  of  the  feast,  when 
the  car  suddenly  started,  precipitating  Robbie,  pie, 
cheese,  Bible  and  the  judge  upon  the  floor. 

No  damage  was  done,  other  than  extinguishing  the 
light.  Another  was  soon  obtained,  the  door  made  secure, 
and  Robbie  proceeded  to  examine  his  present. 

"That's  right;  that's  right!"  said  the  judge,  though 
the  noise  of  the  grinding  wheels  compelled  him  to  ele- 
vate his  voice  to  a  high  pitch.  "Start  right  in.  Seems 
strange  that  a  bright,  well-read  boy  like  you  never  read 
the  Bible.     You  say  your  uncle  raised  you?" 

"Yes,  sir!"  Robbie  answered. 

"And  never  compelled  you  to  read  the  Bible,  never 
taught  you  to  pray?"  went  on  the  judge. 

"No,  he  never  did." 

"And  what  kind  of  a  man  was  he?" 

"If,"  said  Robbie,  "I  should  tell  you  of  his  char- 
acter, I  am  sure  you  would  admit  that  a  man  might  bo 


154  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

good  without  religion,  and  might  be  posted  without 
reading  the  Bible." 

*'What  was  his  character?" 

"Well,  to  borrow  from  Mr.  Goldsmith,  'he  was  an 
husbandman,  and  the  father  of  a  family.'  He  was 
just  in  all  his  dealings,  generous  and  brave  in  his  im- 
pulses, frank  and  open  in  his  expressions,  sincere  and 
warm  in  his  friendships,  affectionate  and  considerate  in 
all  of  his  domestic  relations,  calm  in  his  demeanor,  cor- 
rect in  his  conclusions,  right  in  his  judgments,  genial 
in  his  temper,  sweet  in  his  disposition,  good  to  the  poor, 
envied  not  the  rich,  broad  in  his  views,  clean  in  his 
person,  faultless  in  his  attire,  the  debtor  to  no  man, 
paid  his  taxes  promptly,  loaned  his  money  to  all  who 
applied,  and  took  neither  interest  nor  security,  lived 
justly  and  plainly,  talked  honestly,  gave  to  every  man 
bis  own,  freed  his  slaves  twenty  years  before  the  war 
broke  out,  gave  four  sons  to  the  cause  of  the  Union, 
never  swore  an  oath,  never  drank  a  drop  of  liquor, 
never  used  tobacco,  scorned  a  lie,  and  loved  the  truth ; 
was  rock  and  oak,  or  vine  and  flower,  as  occasion  re- 
quired, never  struck  a  child  nor  whipped  his  horses, 
visited  the  widow  and  the  fatherless  in  their  affliction, 
worshipped  the  quality  of  mercy,  opened  his  hand  and 
his  doors  to  the  needy,  sought  no  public  office,  fed  and 
clothed  both  the  enemies  and  defenders  of  his  country, 
paid  homage  to  his  wife " 

"Stop!  stop!"  said  the  judge.  "Was  there,  is  there, 
such  a  character?" 

"There  is  such  a  character,  and  his  name  is  Phineas 


CHICKENS   COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  165 

Strong,  and  from  such  a  man  I  have  conceired  some  of 
my  notions  of  life!" 

"And  how  high,"  inquired  the  judge,  "will  his 
monument  be  when  he  dies?" 

"So  high!"  said  Robbie,  with  emphasis,  "that  its 
peak  will  pierce  the  clouds!" 

"Good!  good!"  cried  the  judge.  "You  would  make 
a  splendid  lawyer.     You  should  study  law." 

"I  will,"  said  Robbie,  "and  I  will  begin  under  you!" 

"I  wish  you  a  better  tutor,"  laughingly  replied  the 
judge.  "But  it  is  hard  work  to  talk,  so,  suppose  you 
read  a  chapter  in  the  Bible — your  eyes  are  brighter 
than  mine — I'll  pray,  and  we  will  compose  ourselves  to 
sleep!" 

"All  right,"  said  Robbie;  "what  chapter  shall  I 
read?" 

"Anyone!  Any  one!  They  are  all  good!  Can't 
get  one  that  I  don't  approve,  unless  it  is  that  one  which 
has  in  it 'Put  not  you  trust  in  horses!'  Read  from 
the  Old  Testament!" 

Robbie  opened  the  book  at  random,  and  started  to 
read  the  thirty-eighth  chapter  of  Genesis.  He  had  pro- 
ceeded about  half  through,  innocently  and  unexpectedly, 
when  he  happened  to  stop  and  glance  at  the  judge. 
His  face  was  something  of  a  study.  He  looked  a  trifle 
annoyed  and  considerably  perplexed. 

"Wouldn't  finish  that  chapter  to-night !"  bespoke. 
"Let's  have  a  little  prayer  and  retire.  Will  be  in  Lan- 
caster early. 

Robbie,  however,  was  anxious  to  finish  the  chapter, 


156  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

and  as  the  judge  kneeled  and  prayed,  he  concluded  its 
perusal.  Its  contents  were  a  revelation,  and  perhaps, 
reader,  they  will  be  to  you. 

Judge  Bowers  talked  him  to  sleep  trying  to  explain 
how  it  was  necessary  to  employ  inspiration  to  tell  a 
story  like  that  about  JudaVs  and  his  daughter-in-law. 

When  he  awoke  the  car  was  being  pulled  into  the 
city  of  Lancaster. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  157 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

At  this  time  Lancaster  contained  more  than  twenty 
thousand  people.  It  was  then,  as  now,  an  active,  bus- 
tling place.  Iron  furnaces  day  and  night  sent  lurid 
blasts  of  flame  and  clouds  of  smoke  to  the  sky.  The 
noise  of  the  shtittle  and  the  clang  of  the  loom  could  be 
heard  in  many  quarters,  and  from  more  than  one  hun- 
dred warehouses  the  flavor  of  the  tobacco  leaf  floated 
out  upon  the  air.  The  imposing  courthouse  and  the  tall 
tower  of  the  sinister  jail  loomed  before  the  eyes  of  the 
visitor.  Franklin  and  Marshall  Colleges  invited  those 
who  would  worship  at  the  shrine  of  Minerva. 

The  city  is  regularly  laid  out,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Conestoga  River,  which  supplies  water  power  to  its 
numerous  mills.  There  were  many  substantial  and 
elegant  homes  in  Lancaster,  even  then,  and  among  the 
most  attractive  and  most  inviting,  at  least  in  its  es- 
terior  appearance,  in  a  retired,  well  shaded  street,  in  a 
quiet  part  of  the  city,  was  that  occupied  by  Judge 
Bowers,  and  toward  which  our  hero,  Dewy  Iris,  the 
two  mares,  and  the  judge  himself  were  now  very  closely 
approached. 

"Here  we  are!  Here  we  are!  Home  at  last!"  ex- 
claimed the  judge,  as  he  showed  Robbie  and  his  charges 


158  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

through  a  double  iron  gate  that  led  to  the  driveway  to 
the  barn  in  the  rear  of  the  house. 

It  was  a  large  square,  brick  barn,  handsomely  fin- 
ished in  and  out.  Producing  a  key,  the  judge  soon 
unlocked  a  door,  and  entering,  opened  double  doors, 
and  Dewy  Iris  was  soon  quartered  in  a  roomy  box  stall 
of  her  own. 

"Now,"  said  the  judge,  "here  is  the  key  to  that 
stall.  No  one  shall  enter  it  but  you.  Into  your  hands, 
sir,  I  commit  the  mare.  You  are  to  feed  her,  groom 
her,  drive  her.  In  consideration  of  which,  you  are  to 
make  your  home  with  me,  dine  at  my  table,  be  my 
guest,  my  honored  guest,  sir,  till  next  August,  and 
longer,  if  we  are  all  agreeable.  All  that  I  require  of 
you  is  the  proper  care  of  that  animal,  which  I  know 
you  are  competent  to  bestow.  The  rest  of  the  time  is 
your  own — to  read,  to  study,  to  go  to  school,  or  do 
what  you  like.     Is  it  a  bargain?" 

"  It  is  a  bargain ! ' '  answered  Robbie.  ' '  And,  further, 
not  that  you  have  forgotten  it,  on  the  day  within  a  year 
that  I  drive  Dewy  Iris  one  mile  on  the  Lancaster 
County  track,  in  less  than  two  minutes  and  eighteen 
seconds,  you  will  hand  me  three  thousand  dollars  in 
money,  and  the  check  for  two  thousand  dollars?" 

"That  is  the  agreement,"  said  the  judge. 

"And  if  I  fail,  you  will  accept  the  mare  for  a  year's 
board?"  asked  Robbie. 

"If  you  fail,"  said  the  judge,  "I  will  give  you  two 
thousand  dollars,  and  keep  the  mare.  I  know,  how- 
ever, that  the  mare  will  wake  up  a  sleeping  world,  and 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  159 

will  do  pretty  near  what  you  say.  The  check,  sir,  I 
will  leave  at  the  bank  to-day,  subject  to  your  order. 
Consider  that  yours,  no  matter  what  happens. ' ' 

"Let  us  shake  hands,"  said  Robbie. 

The  two  men  immediately  clasped  hands.  They 
then  proceeded  along  a  stone  walk  to  the  house. 

This  house  occupied,  and  perhaps  still  occupies,  a 
large,  well-shaded  lawn,  sloping  on  all  sides  to  the 
walls  of  a  stone  fence,  capped  with  granite  flags  and 
adorned  with  a  low  iron  fence,  painted  black.  It  was 
full  two  stories,  of  brick,  with  a  quadrangular  built 
roof,  converging  toward  a  center  at  the  peak,  which 
was  surmounted  with  a  cupola.  It  had  four  tall  chim- 
neys of  brick,  one  on  either  corner.  It  was  flanked  on 
all  sides  by  wide  porches,  whose  roofs  were  supported 
by  filagree  pillars  of  iron.  It  had  four  entrances,  ex- 
actly in  the  center  of  its  sides,  and  four  wide  halls. 
In  the  basement  was  a  large  kitchen,  and  on  the  first 
floor  were  four  large  apartments.  One  of  these,  lighted 
by  four  tall  windows,  was  the  judge's  library,  a  room 
of  spacious  dimensions  and  lofty  ceiling.  Into  this 
Robbie  v/as  now  ushered. 

It  being  early,  these  two  were  the  only  ones  about 
the  premises  that  were  stirring.  A  coal  fire,  not  very 
bright,  burned  upon  the  hearth.  Before  this,  the  judge 
seated  our  hero,  and  excused  himself,  saying  he  would 
go  and  arouse  the  household.  He  therefore  departed, 
and  Robbie  began  a  quiet  inspection  of  the  room  and  its 
contents.  Opening  the  shutters  to  receive  more  light, 
his  eyes  fell  upon  a  scene  which  filled  him  with  delight. 


160  CHICKENS   COME   HOME    TO    ROOST. 

The  room,  on  its  four  sides,  contained  cases,  some  of 
■which  reached  to  the  ceiling,  and  were  filled  with  books 
— books,  beautifully  bound,  richly  marked. 

Above  him,  and  occupying  nearly  all  the  space  of  the 
chimney  over  the  mantel,  in  a  magnificent  frame  of 
gilt,  hung  an  oil  painting,  the  spirit,  life  and  color  of 
which  held  him  spellbound.  It  was  the  "Horse  Fair." 
done  by  no  less  a  genius  than  the  noted  Eosa  Bon- 
heur.  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that  this  was  the 
original  of  that  famous  painting  A.  T.  Stewart,  of 
New  York,  once  owned  it,  and  it  was  about  this  time 
that  this  great  work  of  the  artist  was  sold  in  the  United 
States  for  ten  thousand  dollars. 

To  Robbie  it  appeared  the  grandest  picture  he  ever 
saw,  and  no  doubt  it  was.  Occupying  a  similar  space 
on  the  opposite  wall  hung  a  painting  of  "Christ  Before 
Pilate,"  far  less  attractive  than  the  picture  of  the 
horses.  The  walls  were  further  adoi-ned  with  colored 
prints  of  Flora  Temple,  Dexter,  General  Butler,  and 
other  famous  trotting  kings  of  the  turf  in  harness,  and 
pictured  as  leading  the  race  in  the  stretch  on  some  race 
track,  while  a  multitude  of  beholders  threw  their  hats 
in  the  air. 

It  was,  however,  to  the  books  that  Eobbie  cast  his 
most  tender  glances.  He  found  one  case  that  struck 
him  at  once  as  highly  reflective  of  the  character  of  its 
owner.  Side  by  side,  reposing  calmly  and  contentedly 
were  Baxter's  "Saint's  Rest,"  a  copy  of  "The  English 
Stud  Book,"  by  Messrs.  Weatherby;  "Divine  Revela- 
tion," by  Fox;  the  "Racing  Calendar,"  De    Witte's 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  161 

"EinlituEg,"  Whyte's"  History  of  the  Turf,"  Tregelles 
on  "The  Texts  of  the  New  Testament,"  Mayhew  on 
"The  Management  of  the  Horse,"  Hitchcock's  "Analy- 
sis of  the  Bible,"  Percival's  "Anatomy  of  the  Horse," 
"The  Atonement,"  by  Dr.  A.  A.  Hodge,  "The  Ameri- 
can Trotting  Eegister,"  "Festivals  and  Fasts,"  by 
Bishop  Hobart,  and  bound  volumes  of  The  Spirit  of 
the  Times.  These  books,  and  some  venerable  law 
volumes,  gave  external  evidence  of  having  been  fre- 
quently consulted. 

But  there  were  at  least  two  thousand  others,  fresh 
and  nearly  new,  among  which,  in  cloth  and  gold,  he 
beheld  the  matchless  novels  of  Fielding,  the  rare 
romances  of  Scott,  the  beauties  of  Bulwer,  and  indeed, 
a  whole  realm  of  fiction  and  history,  law,  religion,  poli- 
tics, biography  and  poetry.  There  was  a  classic  collec- 
tion, which  included  Herodotus, Apulieu8,Sallust,  Ovid, 
Homer,  Pliny,  Josephus,  his  beloved  Virgil,  Cicero, 
and  a  dozen  others,  all  of  which  he  was  trying  to  in- 
spect at  one  and  the  same  time,  when  the  sound  of  voices 
arrested  his  attention.  He  heard,  in  rather  animated 
tones: 

"Just  like  you,  always  bringing  some  tramp  or  clod- 
hopper to  the  house!" 

"But,  my  dear!  I  am  sure  you  misjudge  the  young 
man!" 

"Misjudge  nothing!  I  know  you  too  well.  But  I'll 
not  stand  it  longer.  He  shall  just  pack  up  and  be  off. 
Pay  him  for  his  horse,  and  tell  him  so,  or  I  will;  I'll 
have  no  more  paupers  in  the  house!" 


162  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

*'H0  Bhall  at  least  breakfast  here.'* 

This  Robbie  recognized  as  the  voice  of  Judge 
Bowers,  who  at  that  moment,  somewhat  red  in  the 
face,  and  evidently  embarrassed,  entered  the  room. 

"Breakfast  will  be  ready  soon,  and  while  they  are 
getting  it,  I'll  show  you  your  room!"  he  observed, 
Eobbie  imagined,  rather  timidly. 

'  The  judge  led  the  way  to  the  second  floor  and  showed 
his  guest  into  a  large  rear  room,  elegantly  furnished. 
There  were  pictures  on  the  walls,  and  a  writing  desk  in 
one  corner.  The  carpet  was  of  velvet,  Robbie  thought, 
four  inches  thick. 

"Just  make  yourself  at  home.  Find  soap  and  towels, 
brush  and  comb,  and  fix  yourself  up  a  bit.  Bell  rings 
once,  then  come  down."     With  this  he  left. 

Robbie  could  hardly  believe  his  senses.  He  had 
never  seen  anything  like  this  in  his  life.  He  was  afraid 
to  sit  down  or  touch  a  thing  lest  he  soil  it.  However 
he  soon  found  some  sweet-scented  soap  and  with  its  aid, 
water,  brush  and  comb,  made  himself  presentable. 
Without  waiting  for  the  bell,  he  descended  the  stairs 
and  had  approached  the  library  when  more  loud  talking 
arrested  him.     A  woman's  voice  said: 

"And  you  gave  him  the  best  spare  room?  Sam 
Bowers!  I  do  think  you've  lost  your  senses!  I've^a 
good  mind  not  to  eat  with  you!" 

Robbie  felt,  uneasily,  that  he  was  the  subject  of  these 
and  the  former  remarks,  and  that  the  owner  of  the 
voice  was  no  doubt  Mrs.  Bowers.  His  face  burned 
with  indignation,  and  he  was  about  ready  to  depart  the 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST.  163 

house,  fully  convinced  that  his  further  continuance 
would  cause  both  the  judge  and  his  wife  great  domestic 
difference,  vv^hen  a  door  before  him  opened  and  the  lady 
herself  suddenly  appeared. 

Eobbie  looked  confused,  and  Mrs.  Bowers,  for  she  it 
was,  colored  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  Instinctively  she 
knew,  and  her  face  expressed  it,  that  she  had  been  over- 
heard. The  mutual  embarrassment  lasted  nearly  a 
minute.  The  lady  was  the  first  to  speak.  She  smiled 
on  Robbie,  and  remarked,  rather  sarcastically  he 
thought,  "Mr.  Porter,  I  believe — the  judge's  friend?" 

"Yes,"  said  Robbie,  still  under  the  influence  of  the 
indignation  and  mortification  of  the  situation. 

"Permit  me,"  said  the  lady,  really  in  a  condescend- 
ing tone,  "to  show  you  to  the  breakfast  room!"  She 
opened  the  very  door  through  which  she  had  just 
emerged,  indicating  by  a  motion  of  her  ratber  heavily 
jeweled  hand  that  she  expected  him  to  follow  her. 
This  he  did,  no  doubt  largely  influenced  by  the  flavor 
of  a  warm  breakfast  that  floated  into  his  nostrils,  and 
intensified  his  already  large  desire  to  eat. 

The  judge,  who  was  seated  by  a  window,  arose  as  the 
two  entered,  and  said : 

"My  wife,  Mr.  Porter.  Josephine,  this  is  Mr. Robert 
Porter,  who  is  to  be  our  guest  for  the  next  year  I" 

The  lady  not  only  bowed  gracefully,  but  smiled  also 
as  she  acknowledged  the  introduction,  and  actually 
said  (bless  the  sex!) :  "Delighted  to  meet  youj  Mr.  Por- 
ter ;  charmed  to  welcome  you.  I  hope  you  will  like 
Lancaster." 


164  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

For  the  life  of  him  Robbie  could  not  determine 
whether  the  lady  was  joking  or  in  earnest.  He  was  in- 
clined to  conclude  the  former,  but  she  had  extended  her 
hand  with  such  promptness,  and  clasped  his  own  with 
such  evident  sincerity,  that  all  of  his  resentment  van- 
ished, and  he  was  quite  willing  to  forgive  her  hasty 
remarks.  The  truth  was,  that  Mrs.  Bowers,  having 
had  an  opportunity  to  survey  Robbie  from  head  to  foot, 
had,  in  spite  of  his  rural  appearance,  in  spite  of  his  top 
boots  and  rather  crude  manners,  undergone  a  complete 
change  of  sentiment. 

She  was  agreeably  surprised,  for  reader,  our  hero 
already  possessed,  physically,  parts  calculated  to  charm 
a  woman.  He  was  now  well  grown,  five  feet  nine  or 
ten  inches;  with  a  well-shaped  head,  covered  with  a 
wealth  of  brown  curls  that  fell  gracefully  around  his 
neck;  a  high,  smooth  forehead,  blue  eyes,  large,  tender 
and  frank,  beaming  with  the  glance  of  innocence; 
cheeks  flushed  with  the  color  of  health,  red  lips,  a  dim- 
pled chin,  broad  shoulders;  straight  as  an  arrow — all 
of  his  movements  indicating  the  athlete  and  the  elas- 
ticity of  3"outh, 

The  soap  and  water  recently  applied  had  removed  the 
traces  of  the  night's  journey,  and  the  soap  had  left  a 
polished  luster  on  face  and  brow;  so,  in  all,  he  pre- 
sented a  more  attractive  picture  to  the  lady  than  she 
had  prepared  herself  to  view.  Therefore  her  hand  had 
been  extended  with  genuine  regard,  and  her  voice  was 
intended  to  reflect  what  was  now  the  real  sentiment  of 
her  mind. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  165 

Before  the  breakfast  concluded  she  was  all  gracious- 
ness,  not  only  to  her  husband  but  to  Robbie.  She 
laughed,  joked,  and  openly  apologized  for  her  unkind 
remarks  about  the  new  guest.  Begged  Eobbie  to  for- 
give her,  saying,  as  an  excuse,  that  Mr.  Bowers  had 
long  been  in  the  habit  of  bringing  irresponsible  people 
and  orphan  boys  into  the  house,  and  all  of  them  had 
been  ungrateful,  some  dishonest,  man 3^  dirty  and  igno- 
rant, so  that  she  was  compelled  to  "put  her  foot  down,'* 
as  she  expressed  it,  and  read  the  law  to  Mr.  Bov/ers. 

She  had  all  of  Robbie's  sympathy,  and  all  of  his  con- 
fidence before  they  left  the  room.  She  told  him  she 
was  a  farmer's  daughter,  and  always  liked  farmers* 
boys  until  she  met  the  judge,  and  had  only  agreed  to 
marry  him  on  being  satisfied  that  he  was  once  a  plow- 
man. 

"Well,"  said  Robbie,  "it  has  been  often  observed, 
that  a  plowman  on  his  feet  is  better  than  a  gentleman 
on  his  knees!" 

"Good!  good!"  exclaimed  the  judge,  and  they 
arose  from  the  table. 


166  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Judge  Bowers  was  then  among  the  most  prominent 
citizens  of  Lancaster.  For  nearly  thirty  years  he  had 
been  a  judge,  a  politician,  a  lover  of  fast  horses,  and  a 
leader  in  the  social  and  religious  life  of  the  town.  He 
was  rich  in  purse,  lands  and  learning.  Of  a  pure 
mind,  a  generous  heart,  and  a  pleasing  disposition,  he 
bad  warm  friends  among  a  wide  acquaintance.  His 
home  was  among  the  most  elegant,  his  library  the 
largest,  his  wife  the  handsomest,  and  his  horses  the 
fastest.  He  was  trusted  by  all  who  knew  him;  had 
no  enemies,  and  was  envied  by  all  the  world  as  a 
happy  man. 

He  was  not. 

His  present  matrimonial  partner  was  hia  second. 
She  was  about  forty  years  his  junior.  They  had  been 
married  nearly  ten  years.  They  had  no  children;  and 
generally  found  their  chief  source  of  happiness  in  social 
display,  or  church  charities.  They  had  long  become 
conspicuous  for  both. 

The  heart  of  the  wife  had  never  yet  been  touched  by 
the  sweetness  of  love,  and  the  heart  of  the  husband  was 
long  since  dead  to  its  influences.  These  two,  therefore, 
lived  together  without  passion  or  sentiment.  Their 
domestic  differences  were  many,  but  never  loud  or  vio- 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  167 

lent.  The  natural  refinement  of  the  judge,  and  a  sense 
of  policy  on  the  part  of  the  wife,  prevented  open  rup- 
tures, and  so  they  lived  together,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  amicably  and  even  happy.  At  church,  in  the 
social  throng,  in  public  court,  in  the  presence  of  guests, 
these  two  smiled  upon  and  "deared"  each  other  with 
all  the  enthusiasm  of  real  love,  and  employed  those 
melting,  tender  expressions  genuine  passion  only  in- 
spires. Alone,  however,  they  rarely  spoke,  and  in  the 
solitude  of  their  own  bed  chamber,  each  turned  back  to 
back.  The  memories  of  the  past  soothed  into  sleep  the 
hapless  husband,  while  dreams  of  the  future  revelled  in 
the  ambitious  brain  of  the  wife.  For  it  was  ambition 
that  induced  Josephine  Hessing  to  become  Mrs.  Judge 
Bowers. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  a  farmer  near  Millersville^ 
whose  ancestry  was  Dutch.  She  inherited  many  of  the 
Dutch  characteristics.  She  had  been  passably  educated,, 
religiously  brought  up,  and  up  to  this  time  had  con- 
ducted herself  as  the  dignified  wife  of  a  rich  judge 
should.  Her  conduct  had  always  been  discreet  and 
womanly.  She  stood  high  in  the  church,  was  a  regu- 
lar communicant,  sipped  the  wine  and  broke  the  bread 
with  closed  eyes,  devout  and  penitent  expression.  At 
social  functions  she  outshone,  outdressed  all  of  her 
former  schoolgirl  companions,  and  yet  her  gracious- 
ness  was  such  that  even  her  lady  friends  spoke  of  her 
character  with  approbation.  Her  generous  donations 
to  the  church  and  to  the  unfortunate,  made  her  name 
generally  known  and  highly  revered. 


168  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

She,  however,  married  Judge  Bowers  because  his 
notice  of  her  beauty  flattered  her,  and  because  every- 
body said  it  was  a  splendid  match.  Well,  she  got  a 
full  purse,  to  be  sure,  but  she  had  to  be  content  with 
an  empty  heart ! 

She  now  owned  to  twenty-eight  years;  being  devout, 
the  reader  will  not  question  her  age.  She  was  as  tall, 
if  not  taller,  than  Robbie;  her  form  was  perfect  in  its 
outline,  properly  proportioned  as  to  bust  and  waist, 
more  inclined  to  embonpoint  than  to  spare.  Her  head 
was  shapely,  and  crowned  with  an  abundance  of  light 
brown  hair,  which  she  usually  dressed  into  a  pompadour 
roll  in  front,  and  gathered  into  a  net  in  the  rear.  Her 
eyes  were  of  medium  size,  steel  gray,  and  not  without 
an  expression  of  tenderness.  All  of  her  features  were 
exactly  regular;  her  nose  straight,  with  wide  nostrils, 
pink  and  thin.  Over  her  entire  face  the  glow  of  per- 
fect health  suffused  itself.  Her  lips,  of  course,  while 
they  were  red,  and  curved  so  as  to  indicate  a  pleasant 
disposition,  were  perhaps  hardly  thin  enough  to  be 
classic  or  cold,  and  hardly  thick  enough  to  indicate 
warmth  or  affection.  Her  teeth  were  well  preserved, 
remarkably  white,  regular,  and  evidently  the  subject  of 
much  care.  She  smiled  as  she  talked,  and  her  smile 
invited  your  confidence.  Her  chin  was  rounded,  and 
as  not  therefore  strictly  classical.  Her  hands  were 
small,  full  of  rings,  and  her  fingers  tapered. 

Her  costume,  on  the  morning  Robbie  first  beheld  her, 
was  a  loose-fitting  garment — a  wrapper,  with  a  watteau 
pleat  down  the  back,  and  a  train  that  swept  the  floor. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  169 

It  was  of  a  warm,  wool  material,  deep  maroon  in  color, 
fastened  about  her  neck  by  means  of  a  gold  pin,  and 
gathered  about  her  waist  and  held  in  place  by  means  of 
a  belt.  "Whenever  she  moved  her  arms,  a  delicate 
scent,  like  lilac,  floated  from  her  person,  and  brought 
back  to  our  hero  a  memory  of  the  delicious  flowers  that 
flourished  on  the  terraces  of  his  Virginia  home. 

Into  this  place,  and  in  the  companionship  of  these 
two  people,  Robbie  Porter  was  to  pass  the  next  year  of 
his  life.  As  he  inimeditately  completed  arrangements 
for  entering  a  private  academy  near  by,  he  soon  found 
that  in  his  efforts  to  read  all  of  the  books  in  Judge 
Bowers'  library,  to  keep  up  his  school  duties,  and  to 
give  to  Dewy  Iris  that  care  and  attention  which  a 
great  trotting  animal  requires,  he  had  little  time  for 
sleep  or  social  enjoyment. 

He  sometimes  sat  down  at  night  to  read,  and  read  till 
breakfast.  In  a  few  months  he  knew  more  about  the 
books  in  the  house  and  their  contents  than  the  judge  him- 
self. It  was  here  he  read  Voltaire's  "Philosophical  Dic- 
tionary," Bishop  Colenso's  "Pentateuch,"  Thomas 
Paine's  "Age  of  Reason,"  the  works  of  Harriet  Mar- 
tineau,  some  of  those  of  John  Stuart  Mill,  the  "Decline 
and  F8.11  of  the  Roman  Empire,"  some  of  Fourier,  and 
many  others  calculated  to  scatter  to  the  winds  all  of 
his  former  convictions. 

His  reading,  coupled  with  his  memory,  made  his 
company  entertaining  and  his  conversation  elegant 
and  correct.  His  person  being  agreeable,  his  disposi- 
tion genial,  and  his  remarks  often  wise  and  witty,  it 


170  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

'Was  only  a  little  while  before  he  became  a  greater 
favorite  with  Mrs.  Bowers  than  he  had  ever  been  with 
her  husband.  She  soon  ingratiated  herself  completely 
into  his  confidence;  noticed  him  in  such  a  patronizing 
way  that  he  very  quickly  told  the  story  of  his  life,  and 
with  it,  his  great  love  for  Phoebe  Strong. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  171 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

About  the  first  thing  Robbie  did  was  to  write 
Phoebe  a  long  letter  all  about  it.  This  letter  he  had 
from  day  to  day  delayed  sending,  and  finally  showed  it 
to  Mrs.  Bowers  in  order  that  she  might  point  out  any 
mistakes  or  grammatical  errors.  It  was  a  letter  breath- 
ing love  and  hope — the  letter  of  an  ambitious  boy  to 
his  first  love,  his  idol.  It  was  full  of  promise,  and 
warm  with  those  tender  sentiments  that  spring  from 
the  heart.  Mrs.  Bowers  pronounced  it  perfect,  and  ad- 
vanced the  opinion  that,  if  she  was  a  girl,  she  would  be 
very  proud  to  receive  such  a  message  from  her  sweet- 
heart. The  letter  was  given  to  her  to  mail.  It  never 
reached  its  destination. 

One  day  a  week  or  so  after  his  advent,  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  Robert  Porter  was  left  at  the  Bowers'  home. 
A  few  moments  after  its  arrival  it  was  blazing  on  the 
hearth  in  Judge  Bowers'  library. 

It  pains  me,  reader,  to  write  that  the  only  pious 
character  in  my  novel  is  the  most  base  one.  That  a 
woman  of  the  social  and  religious  standing  of  Josephine 
Bowers  should  come  between  an  unsophisticated  coun- 
try boy  and  his  rural  love  may  seem  to  the  reader  as 
unreasonable.  There  is  only  one  hypothesis  on  which 
to  base  the  cause. 


172  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

Josephine  Bowers,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  was 
in  love.  She  knew  it,  and  was  at  first  ashamed  of  it, 
and,  to  do  her  justice,  I  will  say  she  laughed  at  the 
idea,  drove  it  from  her  mind,  banished  it,  buried  it, 
strangled  it,  denied  it  with  her  tongue,  stamped  on  it 
with  her  foot,  but  just  as  sure  as  Robbie  Porter  came 
into  her  presence  it  came  back  stconger  than  ever,  and 
each  day  required  a  greater  struggle  than  the  preced- 
ing one.  At  the  end  of  a  week  she  was  vanquished, 
and  love — yes — and  something  worse,  jealousy,  also  had 
just  as  surely  taken  possession  of  her  heart  and  con- 
science as  the  devil  takes  the  soul  and  body  of  his  vic- 
tims. In  contests  of  this  kind  I  have  noticed  that  love 
generally  wins. 

She  therefore  began  to  dream,  to  hope,  that  some- 
thing might  happen.  Then  could  not  this  boy  love  her 
as  he  loved  Phoebe  Strong,  Why  not?  She  was 
young;  she  would  be  rich.  The  judge  was  nearly 
seventy  now.  He  was  a  trifle  delicate,  too.  He  could 
net  live  many  years  longer,  and  then — then;  well, 
though  she  had  never  practiced  the  art  of  love,  she  was 
confident  she  could  teach  a  few  of  its  principles  to  this 
handsome  young  Virginian. 

In  the  meantime  he  might  marry  Phcebe.  She  fairly 
shuddered  at  the  thought.     She  would  prevent  it ! 

She  did  not  at  first  know  how,  but  opportunity,  fate, 
the  devil,  or  something  aided  her.  She  already  knew 
Robbie's  proud  and  sensitive  nature.  If  he  received 
no  replies  to  his  letters,  she  was  sure  that  his  independ- 
ent spirit  would  never    beg  any  woman's   love,  even 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  173 

though  it  broke  his  heart  to  lose  it.  She  had  it.  She 
■would  destroy  any  letters  that  came  to  the  house  post- 
marked "Virginia." 

Therefore  on  the  arrival  of  the  first  one,  which  she 
felt  sure  was  from  Phoebe,  and  which,  jealous  as  she 
was,  she  dared  not  open,  she  tossed  into  the  grate,  and 
watched  it  crumble  to  ashes,  and  disappear  up  the 
chimney.  Tne  letter  Robbie  gave  her  to  post  she  care- 
fully locked  in  a  drawer,  fully  believing  that  some  day 
she  would  hand  it  to  him  and  hear  him  bless  her  for 
not  sending  it. 

Now,  while  it  is  true  that  Robbie  had  imparted  to 
this  woman  most  of  the  secrets  of  his  heart,  because  he 
trusted  her,  and  thought  her  good  and  true  and 
womanly,  the  tender  scene  in  the  attic  with  his  be- 
loved Phoebe  had  necessarily  been  omitted.  It  was 
not,  therefore,  with  as  much  surprise  as  Mrs.  Bowers 
expected  he  lamented  the  absence  of  letters. 

To  tell  the  truth,  reader,  Robbie  had  his  own  misgiv- 
ings about  that  very  scene.  His  heart  troubled  him 
mightily.  He  was  fully  aware  of  the  delicacy  of  the 
character  of  Phoebe,  and  was  very  much  afraid  that 
her  awakening  would  be  accompanied  with  a  revulsion 
of  feelings.  He  longed  for  a  letter,  but  had  sad  mis- 
givings as  to  its  contents.  He  wished,  and  hoped,  and 
feared,  and  doubted.  Then,  too,  Phoebe  may  have  con- 
fessed all  to  her  parents,  and  what  must  they  have , 
thought  of  him.  He  deplored  the  situation,  and  was' 
tormented  with  uncertainty.  But  when  three  weeks 
had  slipped  away,  and  no  word  had  come,  he  mad©  up 


174  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

his  mind  that  either  Phoebe  hated  him,  or  Uncle 
Phineas  had  learned  the  truth  and  forbade  her  to  write. 
Three  of  her  letters  had  already  come  to  the  house,  and 
all  had  been  consigned  to  the  flames  by  Josephine 
Bowers.  He  decided,  however,  to  write  one  more  let- 
ter, and  if  that  brought  no  reply,  just  as  soon  as  he 
completed  his  contract,  to  go  back  to  Virginia,  face 
the  consequences,  and  if  Uncle  Phineas  refused  him 
Phoebe,  persuade  her  to  run  away  with  him.  He  knew 
he  would  win  the  five  thousand  dollars,  and  that  would 
help  him  and  his  beloved  to  a  start  in  life.  Filled  with 
these  honorable  thoughts  and  purposes  he  sat  down  in 
the  library,  after  returning  from  school  and  wrote : 

"Dearest  Phcebe  and  Only  Love:  Why  art  thou 
silent?  Has  thy  Robert  no  longer  any  place  in  thy 
heart?  Has  thy  mind  banished  the  memory  of  his  face, 
and  has  thy  tongue  ceased  to  repeat  his  name?  Dost 
know  that  thy  silence  makes  heavy  his  heart,  and  is 
tumbling  his  castles  in  ruins?  Dost  know  that  with- 
out thy  love  his  hopes  will  perish,  and  his  ambition 
will  die?  If  I  have  wronged  thee,  Phoebe,  recall  the 
past  and  forgive  me;  think  of  the  future  and  receive 
me.  Let  me  not  say  that  I  have  builded  my  faith  on 
sand;  have  confessed  my  love  to  air.  Help  me  to  ful- 
fill the  dreams  of  my  youth,  to  complete  the  plans  of 
my  life;  and  write,  write  one  line,  one  word  of  affec- 
tion to  him  who  yet  remembers  the  sweetness  of  thy 
breath;  who  yet  recalls  the  beauty  of  thy  wondrous 
eyes.  Robbie." 

*' There,"  said  Robbie,  "if  she  does  not  answer  that. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  175 

by  Heaven !  I'll  lock  up  her  image  in  my  heart,  throw 
away  the  key,  and  forget  that  I  ever  heard  her  name." 

He  had  completed  the  folding,  and  had  put  the  super- 
scription upon  the  envelope,  when  somebody  leaned 
over  his  shoulders  and  in  a  merry  tone  said : 

"Writing  to  your  girl  again,  I  warrant!  She  can't 
think  much  of  you  not  to  answer  your  letters!" 

It  was  Mrs.  Bowers. 

Her  observation  appeared  true,  and  Robbie  colored. 
She  was  dressed  for  a  walk.  As  she  already  knew  to 
whom  the  letter  was  addressed,  Robbie  inquired  if  she 
was  going  as  far  as  the  post  office.  She  was  not  going 
that  far,  but  if  he  wanted  his  letter  mailed,  she  would 
gladly  walk  a  block  or  two  farther,  "Just to  help  along 
a  love  match,"  she  said,  smiling.  Robbie  handed  her 
the  letter.  This  one  she  opened  and  read,  and  laid  it 
by  the  side  of  the  others. 

Robbie  waited  hopefully,  expectantly,  for  two  weeks. 
No  reply  came.  He  plunged  deeper  than  ever  into  his 
books.  He  said,  "I  will  forget  her!"  But  at  night  he 
saw  her  face  in  the  stars,  and  in  the  morning  he  heard 
her  voice  calling  "Robbie,  Rob-b-i-e!"  and  awoke  to 
find  himself  in  his  gilded  room,  in  a  house  where  at 
least  the  hearts  of  two  people  were  daily  longing  for 
what  they  were  never  to  possess. 


176  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

New  scenes,  new  situations,  new  faces,  the  fascina- 
tion of  study,  the  ultimate  hope  of  success,  kept  Robbie 
from  despair.  Indeed,  he  was  nearly  happy.  He 
could  not  bring  his  mind  to  believe  that  Phoebe  had  for- 
gotten him.  He  still  felicitated  his  heart  with  the  be- 
lief that  she  loved  him,  and  that  she  would  again  fall 
fondly  into  his  arms  the  moment  he  appeared  before 
her.     His  own  affection,  he  was  sure,  was  fixed. 

True,  he  could  smile,  and  sing,  and  be  gay,  but  he 
never  forgot.  In  the  quiet  of  his  chamber,  in  the  com- 
pany of  his  own  thoughts,  Phcebe's  face  came  to  him, 
and  a  vision  of  the  old  home,  the  terraced  lawn,  and 
the  rolling  river  passed  before  his  eyes.  But  the  winter 
went;  and,  almost  before  he  was  aware,  summer,  soft, 
sensuous  summer,  with  its  green  robes  and  violet  val- 
leys, was  breathing  its  soft  and  scented  airs  upon 
Conestoga's  lofty  hills  and  verdant  meadows.  And  as 
winter  had  thrown  away  her  rough,  uninviting  costume, 
so  had  Robbie  Porter  discarded  his  plain  and  country- 
like  garb. 

Under  the  influences  of  that  wondrous  library,  under 
the  direction  of  Josephine  Bowers,  who  had  now  be- 
come kind,  solicitous  and  companionable;  under  the 
gentle  and  refined  associations  of  a  man  like  Judge 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  177 

Bowers,  my  hero  had  again  metamorphosed  into 
another  being.  Study  had  somewhat  paled  his  cheek, 
but  taste  had  greatly  improved  his  costume.  He  had 
grown  fastidious.  He  wore  immaculate  shirt  fronts, 
snow-like  collars,  gay,  parti-colored  ties,  neat,  low-cut 
patent  leather  shoes,  white  or  embroidered  vests,  and 
sometimes  duck  trousers,  a  jaunty  straw  hat,  and,  yes, 
— carried  a  cane,  when  be  walked  out. 

Why,  the  boy  had  become  a  dude,  a  bud  of  fashion, 
a  patron  of  art  in  clothes,  a  judge  of  bookn,  and  a  local 
authority  on  all  subjects,  scientific,  theological,  politi- 
cal, horse  racing,  law,  philosophy,  statuary,  painting, 
fiction,  medicine,  poetry,  or  most  anything  you  wanted 
information  about.  Even  Judge  Bowers,  whose  range 
of  reading  had  been  wide,  confessed  that  he  now  got  all 
of  his  current  information  from  Robbie  Porter.  He 
had,  indeed,  changed.  He  had  become  a  philosopher. 
He  saw  no  sorrow,  no  grief,  in  any  imaginary  or  real 
calamity. 

He  had  arrived  in  a  few  short  months  to  a  mental 
condition  many  others  have  reached.  He  was  ready  to 
confess  that  he  knew  nothing.  Ready  to  doubt  any- 
thing or  all  things.  He  suspected  all  religions,  and 
believed  in  none.  He  kept  his  promise  to  the  judge 
and  read  the  Bible  from  cover  to  cover.  He  found  in 
it  things  most  ministers  missed.  He  threw  it  aside, 
and  said  man  could  get  along  without  it.  He  never 
looked  at  it  again  for  twenty  years.  He  believed  that 
death  ended  all ;  that  man  had  no  soul,  that  hell  was  a 
myth,  heaven  an  imaginary  place,  and   immortality 


178  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 

either  tbe  dream  of  the  fearful  or  the  hope  of  the  affec- 
tionate. He  openly  praised  Fourierism,  and  lauded 
Voltaire  as  the  matchless  wit  of  a  wondering  world. 
Ingersoll  had  not  yet  flashed  across  the  intellectual 
horizon.  He  knew  that  he  was  groping  in  darkness, 
yet  felt  as  though  the  scales  had  fallen  from  his  eyes. 
In  his  heart  he  thanked  Judge  Bowers  and  regarded 
himself  under  a  debt  of  gratitude,  he  had  no  method  or 
means  of  repaying.  One  thing  he  resolved,  never  to  do 
anything  to  forfeit  the  good  opinion  this  noble  old  man 
entertained  of  him. 

The  summer  went  fast,  and  the  time  when  Judge 
Bowers  had  selected  to  test  the  speed  of  Dewy  Iris  was 
fast  approaching. 

At  this  time  the  interest  in  trotting  horses  had  be- 
come greatly  increased.  The  National  Trotting  Asso- 
ciation had  been  organized,  and  all  over  the  country  it 
had  now  become  the  custom  for  local  agricultural 
county  or  fair  associations  to  offer  purses  for  the  best 
trotters.  To  induce  good  performances,  and  increase 
attendance,  these  purses  were  often  quite  large,  in 
some  instances  amounting  to  several  thousand  dollars. 
Interest  in  trotting  events  was  at  its  height.  Flora 
Temple,  whose  record  of  2:19|,  made  ten  years  before, 
and  which  had  stood  the  unapproachable  wonder  of  the 
trotting  world,  was  in  1867  outdone  by  the  noble  Dex- 
ter, who  had  spoiled  the  predictions  of  the  turf  prophets 
by  lowering  the  record  to  2:17^.  To  beat,  or  even 
equal  Flora  Temple,  was,  however,  the  dream  of  hun- 
dreds of  horse  owners,  and  she  was  the  idol  of  the  turf. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  179 

The  Lancaster  County  Fair  was  advertised  in  1870 
to  open  Thursday,  August  4th.  The  principal  feature 
of  entertainment,  the  management  promised,  was  the 
trotting  races.  Large  purses  were  offered,  and  com- 
petitors flocked  from  miles  around.  There  were  to  be 
three,  perhaps  four  races  each  day,  and  the  swiftest 
horses  known  to  the  turf  world  were  promised  to  be 
present.  For  Friday,  the  5th  of  August,  the  second 
day,  there  was  to  be  a  race,  advertised  as  the  2  :20  class, 
in  which  a  purse  of  one  thousand  dollars  was  offered, 
six  hundred  dollars  to  the  winner,  three  hundred  dollars 
to  the  second  horse,  and  one  hundred  dollars  to  the 
third,  and  one  thousand  dollars  additional  to  the  horse 
that  would  lower  Dexter's  record  of  2 :17i,  no  matter  if 
only  one  heat  was  trotted.  This  last  purse  was  guaran- 
teed by  the  bankers  and  manufacturers  of  Lancaster. 

Seventeen  horses  were  registered  and  posted  as  en- 
tered for  this  contest.  Among  them  on  the  billboards 
appeared  the  name  of  Dewy  Iris,  four-year-old  filly, 
property  of  S.  P.  Bowers,  driven  by  Robbie  Porter. 

For  ten  years  now  Judge  Bowers  had  owned  the 
fastest  horses  on  the  Lancaster  track.  If  there  was  a 
world-beater  in  that  county  it  was  generally  understood 
that  Bowers  would  show  up  with  it  at  the  race  track 
during  fair  week.  He  had  been  a  purse-winner  for 
years,  and  with  his  race-track  winnings  had  purchased 
Bibles  and  presented  them  to  his  constituents,  so  that 
there  was  not  a  woman  or  a  voter  in  all  Lancaster 
County  but  owned  a  Bible  presented  by  their  affection- 
ate friend,  S.  P.  Bowers. 


180  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

Neither  the  judge  nor  Robbie  had  made  known  their 
intentions  as  to  Dewy  Iris,  and  Robbie  bad  been  partic- 
ular never  to  trot  her  in  the  presence  of  many  people. 
It  was  the  judge's  dream  to  spring  a  wonder,  not  only 
upon  Lancaster,  but  upon  the  world.  Some  persons, 
however,  had  seen  Robbie  drive  the  mare  a  few  morn- 
ings on  the  track  before  the  fair  opened,  and  secretly 
made  up  their  minds  that  if  they  could  get  a  bet  the 
day  of  the  race  they  would  back  Bowers'  filly  against 
the  field  though  the  great  Dexter  himself  were  present 
and  had  been  allowed  to  enter  this  race. 

Owing  to  the  special  purse  offered  in  order  that  all 
entries  might  have  a  chance  therefor,  the  distance  flag 
was  waived  and  the  horse  making  a  record  lower  than 
Dexter  would  win  the  special  purse  of  one  thousand 
dollars.  The  best  three  heats  in  five  would  win  first 
money. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST.  181 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

The  5th  of  August  was  the  hottest  day  in  Lancas- 
ter, in  the  year  of  1870.  It  was,  too,  the  most  exciting. 
I  suppose  there  are  many  now  living  who  remember  a 
few  of  the  stirring  scenes  of  that  day.  I  suppose  hun- 
dreds of  people  can  recall  the  melancholy  fate  of  poor 
Judge  Bowers.  In  the  minds  of  many  the  memory  of 
the  vast  crowds  that  filled  the  fair  grounds  on  that  day 
no  doubt  still  lingers.  And  such  a  crowd,  I  suspect, 
has  never  congregated  there  since.  The  farmers  came 
from  the  surrounding  country  for  a  distance  of  forty 
miles.  They  poured  in  from  the  adjacent  villages. 
Business  men  closed  their  stores ;  furnaces  smoldered 
in  the  iron  mills;  the  spindle  and  the  loom  were  silent; 
the  banks  shut  their  doors;  the  judges  and  lawyers 
laid  aside  their  briefs;  flags  floated  gayly  from  the  tall 
tower  of  the  jail,  and  streamers  decorated  the  public 
buildings.  Bands  played,  and  bunting  waved.  By 
two  o'clock,  the  time  for  the  first  race,  ten  thousand 
people  were  within  the  gates  of  the  Lancaster  Fair 
Grounds.  The  grand  stand  was  crowded  with  fashion 
and  with  beauty.  Every  eye  was  bright  with  excite- 
ment, and  every  face  was  animated  with  joy. 

"Judge  Bowers,"  said  Robbie,  on  the  morning  of  this 
day,  as  he  mounted  his  sulky  to  drive  Dewy  Iris  to  the 


182  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

scene  of  the  coming  contest,  "I  have,  as  you  know, 
never  driven  a  race,  but  I  am  going  to  drive  this  mare 
to-day  faster  than  you  have  ever  seen  a  horse  trot,  and 
faster,  perhaps,  than  you  will  ever  see  one  again. 
"When  the  sun  goes  down  to-night,  everybody  will 
know  where  Lancaster  is.  Dexter  will  be  forgotten,  and 
Dewy  Iris  will  be  the  queen  of  the  trotting  turf,  and 
will  wear  Flora  Temple's  crown.  When  the  judges 
announce  the  time  after  the  first  heat,  will  you  kindly 
hand  me,  in  currency,  the  five  thousand  dollars?" 

"I  will  go  by  the  bank,  and  draw  the  money,"  said 
the  judge. 

"Thanks,  judge,  you  are  a  man  of  your  word;  the 
soul  of  honor.  It  is  not  that  I  doubted  you,  but  when 
I  have  trotted  one  heat  my  contract  is  complete.  Win 
or  lose,  I  shall  immediately  turn  the  mare  over  to  you, 
and  never  again,  for  money,  for  love,  for  fame,  will  I 
race  another  horse.  I  will  quit  the  scene,  and  start  to- 
night for  Virginia.  I  will  win !  so  have  the  money,  as 
I  am  fully  persuaded  to  leave  to-night." 

For  days  this  had  been  Eobbie's  dream,  and  he  was 
so  impatient  to  depart  that  he  could  scarcely  wait  the 
conclusion  of  his  agreement.  Of  the  three  hundred 
dollars  he  had  now  remaining  about  suflScient  to  take 
him  to  Fredericksburg.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  «ee 
Phoebe,  whether  he  won  or  lost. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  183 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Fate  decreed  he  was  never  to  see  that  sweet  face 
again.  Fate,  for  many,  many  weary  years  thereafter 
detained  him  from  Virginia.  He  was  to  see  many 
States  and  pass  through  many  experiences  before  he 
again  beheld  the  hills  and  rivers  of  the  Old  Dominion. 

Nevertheless,  he  drove  gayly  under  the  wire  in  front 
of  the  judge's  stand,  and  carefully  heeded  the  instruc- 
tions for  driving  in  a  race. 

Of  the  seventeen  horses  entered,  only  seven  appeared 
to  score.  The  rest  were  "scratched."  Of  these  seven, 
four  had  records  as  low  as  2 :26 ;  one  had  a  record  of 
2 :24,  and  one  2 :22.  The  latter  was  the  property  of  a 
Philadelphia  gentleman,  a  bay  mare,  known  as  Get 
There,  only  six  years  old,  traced  to  Abdallah,  whose 
ancestry  was  founded  in  Imported  Messenger.  For 
this  mare  the  owner  had  refused  ten  thousand  dollars. 
Dewy  Iris  had  no  record,  no  breeding,  and  her  looks 
betrayed  the  facts. 

Her  heavy  head  suggested  the  old  Melbourne  stock, 
while  her  ears  reminded  you  of  the  old-fashioned  Cap. 
Clays.  Her  long,  lean  barrel,  with  its  blue  and  white 
hair,  suggested  a  strain  from  Doyle's  famous  Blue  Bull, 
•while  her  lengthy,  muscular  arms,  broad,  flat  knees,  and 
well-developed  chest,  indicated  to  some  that  Rysdyk's 


184  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

Hambletonian  blood  stirred  in  her  veins.  Dewy  Iris 
was  sixteen  hands  and  better  high,  and  her  beautiful 
action  when  she  moved  suggested  perfect  harmony  of 
points,  and  a  correct  fitting  of  all  her  joints.  It  was, 
however,  in  her  full  eyes,  in  her  broad,  flat  forehead, 
in  her  moderate  neck,  wide,  muscular,  yet  light,  the 
large,  dilating  nostrils,  the  fine  muzzle,  the  clean 
throat,  the  spacious,  loosely  attached  windpipe,  the 
long,  deep  body,  and  the  high-set  tail,  that  the  connois- 
seur of  the  turf  saw  the  coming  winner  of  the  day. 

"Hurrah  for  Robbie  Porter!"  shouted  a  schoolmate, 
as  our  hero  drove  by.     Many  who  heard  it  laughed. 

A  man  who  had  seen  the  mare  go  the  morning  before 
said,  ' '  There  goes  a  world  beater. ' '  Those  who  heard  it 
laughed  also;  some  quite  loud. 

A  few  who  thought  they  saw  in  this  unknown  non- 
descript the  future  race  horse  of  the  world  went  quietly 
to  the  booths  and  bet  all  they  had  that  she  would  win 
the  first  heat. 

Judge  Bowers  had  already  wagered  one  thousand 
•dollars,  even  money,  that  Dewy  Iris  would  not  only 
win  the  first  heat,  but  would  win  it  in  less  than  2 :18. 

Bowers  was  long  known  to  be  eccentric.  Many  now 
declared  him  crazy.  Several,  however,  put  up  money 
on  this  proposition,  and  went  laughing  around  the 
grounds  telling  everybody  that  there  was  "easy  money" 
in  old  Bowers  to-day. 

Before  many  wagers  of  this  kind  had  been  made, 
somebody  shouted,  "They're  off!" 

Sure  enough,  the  word  "Go,"  had  been  given,  and 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  185 

Judge  Bowers  fairly  flew  toward  the  judge's  stand. 
His  heart  almost  stopped  beating  when  he  saw  Get 
there  in  the  lead  at  the  pole,  and  Dewy  Iris  off  last,  and 
three  lengths  in  the  rear.  But  as  she  sailed  under  the 
wire  he  saw  Eobbie  Porter's  pale  face  and  compressed 
lips.  He  heard  him  say,  coolly,  easily,  almost  gently : 
"Dewy  Iris,  they're  giving  you  dust.  You  don't  take 
that,  do  you,  old  girl?" 

Oh,  how  beautifully  she  responded  to  that  old-time 
appeal !  How  often  on  the  red  roads  of  Virginia  had 
Robbie  spoken  those  words  to  her.  How  clearly  she 
understood  their  import.  She  knew — she  knew  that 
Robbie  wanted  her  to  go.  She  knew  that  she  was  in  a 
race ;  she  knew  that  some  big  bay  horses,  a  bay  mare, 
and  a  couple  of  little  chestnut  fillies  were  spluttering 
down  the  track  ahead  of  her.  She  laid  her  ears  back, 
stretched  out  those  long  yellow  legs,  unloosed  a  few 
links,  heretofore  concealed  in  her  joints,  and  was  off — ■ 
off  as  no  other  animal  was  ever  seen  to  go.  With 
never  a  skip,  never  a  hop,  not  the  slightest  indication  of 
a  break,  her  legs  working  as  regularly  and  as  rapidly 
as  the  piston  rods  of  an  engine,  her  wide  nostrils 
dilated,  and  the  foam  flying  in  feathery  flakes  from 
her  lips,  she  literally  flew  away. 

At  the  last  quarter  she  was  at  the  necl:  of  Get  There, 
and  at  the  first  half^ — ^that  is,  going  under  the  wire  the 
first  time,  it  being  a  half  mile  oval  track — she  was  two 
lengths  ahead,  and  going  like  the  wind. 

"They're  after  you!"  shouted  Robbie,  so  Judge 
Bowers,  now  as  near  dead  with  delight  as  he  had  a 


186  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

moment  before  been  with  fear,  could  bear,  and  the 
mare,  covered  with  lather,  and  shooting  clouds  of  steam 
from  her  expanded  ebony  nostrils,  seemed  to  let  out 
another  link.  There  was  no  overhauling  her.  A  loco- 
motive could  not  have  passed  her.  She  was  trotting 
the  race  of  her  life;  she  was  lowering  the  world's 
record ;  she  was  winning  a  fortune  for  Robbie  Porter; 
she  was  helping  Phoebe  Strong.  Sbe  seemed  to  know 
it  all.  Sbe  came  tearing  down  the  stretch,  the  most 
perfect  trotting  picture  that  ever  pulled  a  wheel. 

Where  was  Get  There?  Where  were  the  big  bays, 
and  where  were  the  chestnut  fillies?  Lost  in  a  cloud  of 
dust,  distanced,  almost  forgotten  by  the  cheering  crowd, 
which  had  kept  its  eyes  fastened  on  Dewy  Iris  from  the 
time  her  driver  had  so  beautifully  taken  the  pole  from 
Get  There. 

She  passed  under  the  wire,  a  clean  winner  by  nearly 
the  sixteenth  of  a  mile.  Get  There  was  second,  and  a 
big  bay,  known  as  Fast  Asleep,  came  in  third. 

It  was  some  time  before  Robbie  could  induce  Dewy 
Iris  to  stop,  not  daring  to  try  until  he  passed  the  wire. 
He  did  not  know  how  fast  she  was  trotting,  but  he 
knew  that  Get  There  trotted  the  fastest  heat  of  her  life; 
and  judging  that  she  got  in  in  2 :22  (which  she  did),  he 
concluded  that  he  had  beat  her  by  five  seconds  at  least. 
His  heart,  however,  nearly  stood  still  till  he  heard  the 
time-keeper  announce,  "Dewy  Iris  wins  this  heat,  time 
2:14i;  Get — "  The  words  were  lost  in  the  mighty 
shout  that  went  up  from  nearly  five  thousand  throats. 

The  band  struck  up  "Brush  Away  that  Blue-Tail 


DEWY    IRIS    WINS   THIS    HEAT — TIME   2:14!.^." 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  187 

Fly!"  and  the  old  darky,  who  was  sponging  the  foam 
and  dust  from  Dewy  Iris'  mouth,  broke  out,  keeping 
time  to  the  refrain  of  the  spirited  music : 

' '  Oh,  Judge  Bowers  drove  out  one  afternoon, 
The  people  followed  in  coupe  and  'broom,' 
De  Judge's  driver  was  just  a  trifle  shy, 
But  he  win  all  de  money  wid  a  Blue-Tail  Fly, 
Oh,  brush  away,  etc !  " 

And  in  his  delight  rolled  over  in  the  dust.  The  air 
was  full  of  flying  hats  and  waving  handkerchiefs. 

Robbie,  in  his  sulky,  waiting  for  the  announcement, 
every  nerve  strained  and  every  muscle  stiff,  relaxed  his 
rigid  hands  and  legs  and  literally  rolled  off  the  vehicle. 
In  an  instant  his  arms  were  around  the  steaming  neck 
of  Dewy  Iris.  He  pressed  her  long  head  into  his  big 
bosom  and  kissed  her  over  and  over  again.  He  tried 
to  restrain  his  tears,  but  they  rolled  down  his  cheeks 
like  summer  rain. 

"Oh,  Dewy  Iris!  Dewy  Iris!"  he  faintly  uttered,  be- 
tween his  sobs,  "I  saved  your  life;  now  you  have  saved 
mine.     You  have  paid  me  back,  old  girl!" 

In  that  moment,  when  the  happiness  of  his  heart  was 
streaming  from  his  eyes,  he  had  a  vision  of  the  white 
walls  of  River  View;  he  heard  the  rippling  Rappahan- 
nock, and  breathed  again  the  pine  fragrance  as  it  floated 
on  gentle  zephyrs  from  the  tall  trees  that  gracefully 
nodded  on  the  verdant  banks  of  that  beautiful  river; 
again  he  held  his  blushing  Phoebe  in  his  arms,  tasted 
the  moisture  of  those  lovely  lips,  and  felt  her  heart  beat 


188  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

wildly  against  his  own;  he  was  already  miles  away; 
but  the  tumultous  clamor,  the  babbling  tongues,  and  a 
consciousness  that  Judge  Bowers  was  clinging  to  him 
like  a  vine,  drove  the  delicious  reverie  away,  and 
blotted  out  his  picture  of  passion  and  of  joy. 

"Robbie!  Robbie!"  called  the  judge,  looking  up  into 
that  bright,  but  tear-stained  face;  "Robbie,  bear  up, 
boy.  No  time  for  tears;  shout,  man;  laugh,  shout, 
dance.  Don't  you  know  you  have  the  world  at  your 
feet?  Don't  you  know  you  are  a  greater  driver  than 
Splann?  Why,  man,  you've  'smashed'  all  the  records, 
you've  paralzyed  the  world — you've " 

"Ten  thousand  dollars  for  your  filly!  old  man," 
called  a  tall  gentleman,  as  he  sprang  through  the  crowd 
around  the  horse,  and  shook  a  roll  of  bills  under  the 
nose  of  Judge  Bowers. 

"And  you,  young  man,  five  thousand  a  year  for  you 
as  long  as  the  mare  lives. 

"Twenty  thousand  dollars,"  fairly  yelled  a  little 
man,  as  he  ducked  his  way  to  the  side  of  Robbie,  "and 
ten  thousand  for  you!  Money  down  in  two  hours. 
Is  it  a  bargain?" 

"Not  for  me!"  said  Robbie  emphatically. 

"Not  for  sale!"  said  the  judge. 

"Make  way  there,"  he  cried,  as  he  and  Robbie,  the 
aforesaid  sponge  holder,  followed  by  the  two  gentle- 
men, led  Dewy  Iris  toward  the  paddock. 

Another  wild  cheer  went  up  as  they  passed  the  grand 
stand, 

Mrs.  Josephine    Bowers  frantically  waved  her  sun- 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  189 

shade,  while  the  band  broke  out  with,  "See  the  Con- 
quering Hero  Comes!" 

"Judge,"  said  Robbie,  when  they  were  out  of  hear- 
ing of  the  hubbub,  "have  I  kept  my  contract?" 

"You  have!" 

"Have  jou  brought  the  money?" 

"There  it  is!"  And  he  handed  Robbie  a  package  of 
greenbacks,  the  mark  "five  thousand  dollars"  on  a  white 
paper  band  which  held  the  bills  together,  just  as  it  was 
when  the  judge  drew  it  from  the  bank, 

"Then  the  mare  is  yours,  and  good-bj^." 

"Good-by?"  stammered  the  judge,  his  eyes  nearly 
starting  from  his  head.  "Why,  what  do  you  mean? 
You're  certainly  going  to  drive  the  race  out?" 

"Not  for  gold  and  precious  stones!" 

"I  am  pained,  sir;  I  am  astonished!  Why,  sir,  you 
desert  me  in  the  midst  of  battle;  you  leave  me  on  the 
threshold  of  glory.  No  one  can  drive  the  mare!  Oh, 
don't,  don't,  Robert;  if  you  love  me,  if  you  have  grati- 
tude and  friendship,  finish  this  race.  It  will  ruin  me 
if  you  leave  me,  the  crowd  will  jeer  me.  Come,  R<jb- 
bie,  you  shall  have  the  extra  purse,  the  one  thousand 
dollars,  and  first  money;  come,  for  the  sake  of  friend- 
ship!" 

The  appeal  was  pitiful.  The  judge  was  pale  and 
trembling,  and  appeared  to  be  on  the  verge  of  collapse. 

"For  friendship!"  said  Robbie,  "Iwill  drive  another 
heat.  No  more !  Sell  the  mare  as  soon  as  the  heat  is 
concluded.  You  know  she  is  treacherous,  willful  and 
uncertain,     I   doubt  if  she   will   trot  the  third  heat. 


190  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

She  is  nervous  now,  and  only  very  gentle  handling  will 
soothe  her,  or  get  her  to  move." 

"Take  a  whip,"  said  the  judge,  handing  him  a  short 
stock. 

Robbie  took  it,  bent  it  double,  and  threw  it  over  the 
stable  roof. 

The  gong  was  now  sounding  for  the  second  heat. 

The  twenty  minutes  allowed  had  elapsed. 

Mounting  his  sulky  Robbie,  even  paler  than  before, 
drove  under  the  wire  and  gayly  Dewy  Iris  moved  down 
to  the  scoring  point.  A  loud  cheer  greeted  horse  and 
man. 

As  usual,  a  few  of  the  horses  were  tardy,  and  before 
the  first  score,  Judge  Bowers,  now  having  recovered 
his  composure,  stepped  up  to  Robbie's  sulky  wheel  and 
whispered:  ''Drive  her  this  time,  Robbie!  Let  the  jays 
see  what  she  can  do.  Shove  her  along,  boy!  and  my 
will  shall  be  made  in  your  favor  to-morrow!" 

Under  the  rules,  Dewy  Iris  was  entitled  to  the  pole, — 
that  is,  to  a  line  three  feet  from  the  inside  rail  that  en- 
circled the  course.  The  mare,  however,  was  already 
chafing  her  bit,  and  highly  nervous,  so,  in  the  scoring, 
Robbie  did  not  try  for  the  pole,  but  lagged  a  little,  and 
took  the  outside,  preferring  not  to  risk  the  rather  peril- 
ous position  the  pole  horse  is  sometimes  crowded  into 
by  the  treachery  of  unscrupulous  drivers.  He  knew 
that  his  horse  was  a  favorite  with  everybody  but  the 
rival  jockeys,  and  knew  that  nothing  would  please 
them  better  than  to  have  a  "mix  up."  He  therefore 
told  the  starter  to  give  the  word  "Go,"  when  the  other 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST.  191 

six  were  right,  and  not  to  mind  him.  This  was  agree- 
able, and  thus  handicapped,  vokmtarily,  of  course. 
Dewy  Iris  began  her  scoring  for  the  second  heat. 

Fortunately  a  few  trials  only  were  necessary,  and  the 
"Go!"  sounded  loud  and  clear,  the  horses  all  bunched 
except  Dewy  Iris,  whose  head  was  just  over  the  outside 
wheel  of  one  of  the  chestnut  fillies. 

Up  went  a  cloud  of  dust,  blinding  horse  and  driver, 
but  to  the  gentle  word  of  Robbie,  with  his  ear  almost 
touching  the  right  flank  of  his  horse — "They're  giving 
you  dust,  Devv-y  Iris,"  she  bounded  as  a  frightened  deer. 
In  an  instant,  like  a  flash,  the  cloud  of  dust  was  behind ; 
she  was  flying  away  like  a  bird,  as  swift,  as  noiseless, 
as  beautiful. 

The  crowd  watched  her  spellbound.  She  went  under 
the  wire  the  first  time  in  1 :06,  and  as  she  did  so  Eobbie 
said  again,  gently — sweetly  almost — several  heard  him, 
"They're  after  you,  Dewy  Iris!" 

She  never  faltered,  never  skipped,  never  shook  her 
head,  but  like  an  irresistible,  perfect  piece  of  mechanism 
she  sailed  on ;  and  went  under  the  wire  a  clear  winner 
by  nearly  an  eighth  of  a  mile. 

Fast  Asleep  was  later,  and  Get  There  thirteen  seconds 
behind. 

Dewy  Iris  had  trotted  a  mile  in  two  minutes  and 
twelve  seconds! 


392  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

The  greeting  this  announcement  received  beggarts 
accurate  description.  Men  grew  hoarse  with  shouting; 
women  applauded  till  their  gloves  burst;  the  band 
played  with  a  vigor  that  threatened  to  split  the  horns 
and  crack  the  drums.  Robbie  Porter  was  literally 
lifted  from  his  sulky,  and  on  the  shoulders  of  four 
strong  men  paraded  before  the  grand  stand.  Pande- 
monium reigned.  Dewy  Iris  was  indeed  the  wonder 
of  the  trotting  world.  Every  wire  leading  out  of  Lan- 
caster was  "hot"  with  the  startling  achievement. 
Judge  Bowers,  wild  with  delight,  capered  around  the 
mare  like  a  schoolboy,  and  when  Robbie  appeared  to 
lead  her  to  the  paddock,  kissed  and  hugged  him  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  genuine  affection. 

"Come,  Bowers,"  said  the  little  man,  who  had 
"ducked"  his  way  a  second  time  to  Robbie's  side. 
"Come,  Bowers,  sell  me  your  mare.  Be  reasonable, 
I'll  make  it  twenty -five  thousand  dollars!" 

"Nonsense!"  laughed  the  judge,  following  the  mare 
and  her  driver.  "Why,  man,  you  haven't  seen  her  trot 
j'et.  I  tell  you,  sir,  there's  more  speed  in  her  than 
that!" 

"Will  you  take  thirty  thousand  dollars?  Money  in 
hand  as  soon  as  tne  bank  opens — five  thousand  down  to 
bind  the  bargain?     Is  it  a  go?" 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  193 

The  little  man  was  in  dead  earnest,  and  held  in  his 
hand  a  large  roll  of  bills. 

"Wait  a  minute!"  said  the  judge. 

"Oh,  Robbie,"  he  called,  "shall  I  sell  her?  I  am 
offered  thirty  thousand  dollars!" 

"Sell  her,"  whispered  Robbie.  "I  know  she  won't 
trot  another  heat!" 

"It's  a  bargain!"  said  the  judge,  turning  to  the  little 
man. 

"There's  your  money!  five  thousand;  you  know  me, 
Joe  Quirrell,  of  Norristown.  Step  in  here  and  I'll  give 
you  a  draft  on  the  First  National  Bank  for  the  balance. 
Is  that  satisfactory?" 

"Perfectly,  sir.     I  know  you  for  a  man  of  honor." 

The  sale  was  immediately  concluded. 

"The  mare's  mine!"  said  Quirrell. 

"The  mare's  yours!"  replied  the  judge. 

"Then  you  have  no  further  use  for  me,  so  I'll  go!" 
said  Robbie. 

"Go!"  exclaimed  Quirrell,  his  tone  full  of  surprise. 
"Why,  man,  you're  certainly  hired  to  drive  this  race 
out?  How's  this,  judge?  Surely  you  don't  expect  me 
to  get  a  driver  at  this  late  hour?  Why,  my  God,  there 
goes  the  gong  for  the  third  heat!" 

"Mr.  Porter,"  said  the  judge,  "is  under  no  contract 
with  me.  He  was  to  drive  her  one  heat.  He  drove 
the  second  as  a  favor  to  me.  I  promised  him  the 
special  money  and  the  regular  purse.  And,  Robbie, 
here's  your  special  money  now !"  With  that  he  handed 
him  a  thousand-dollar  bill. 


194  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

"But,  sir,  I  will  pay  you  handsomely!"  said  Quir- 
rell  appealingly.  "Name  your  price,  young  man,  and 
you  can  have  it  right  now !' ' 

The  gong  was  sounding  again. 

"I  refuse,"  said  Robbie  quietly. 

"Oh,  come  now!  Don't  treat  a  man  that  way. 
Name  your  terms.  I'll  hire  you  by  the  year.  Give 
you  ten  thousand  a  year  to  drive  for  me." 

"I  am  nota  jockey,  sir,"  Robbie  answered  haughtily. 

"Maybe  not,"  said  Quirrell,  "but  you  are  the  finest 
I  ever  saw.  So,  just  name  your  price  to  drive  this  race 
out." 

"I  can't  do  it,  I  don't  want  to  do  it.  All  the  money 
in  Pennsylvania,  sir,  could  not  hire  me!"  Thus  de- 
livering himself,  Robbie  started  to  leave. 

"Why,  Christ  Almighty !"  said  Quirrell,  now  thor- 
oughly angry,  "this  looks  like  a  job.  Bowers,  you've 
put  up  some  game  on  mel  Is  there  anything  the  mat- 
ter with  the  mare?  You  know,  as  an  old  horseman, 
that  such  business  as  this  doesn't  go  on  the  turf.  I  de- 
mand to  know  what  this  means;  why  this  man  can't 
drive  this  race  out  as  the  rules  provide?  Judge  Bowers 
you're  too  old  a  man  to  play  tricks  on  your  friends!" 

"Sir,"  s? id  the  judge,  "you  insult  me!  Take  brek 
your  money.  I  don't  have  to  sell  the  mare.  Here — " 
and  he  stuck  Quirrell's  money  under  his  nose. 

"That's  all  right,  Bowers;  a  bargain's  a  bargain  with 
me.  But  if  there  is  a  trick  in  this,  you'll  spring  no  more 
trotting  wonders  in  this  community.  We'll  get  you 
out  of  the  association  all  right!" 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  195 

This  last  remark  touched  the  judge. 

Quirrell  was  rich  and  powerful.  The  intimation 
that  he  might  prefer  some  charges,  and  rule  him  off  the 
turf  was  a  little  too  much  for  the  old  man. 

For  twenty  years  he  had  been  the  most  prominent 
patron  of  the  turf  in  all  that  country.  His  reputation 
was  the  highest;  his  word  was  taken  on  every  track 
for  any  amount.  He  was  proud  of  his  standing.  To 
have  even  a  shadow  on  it,  at  this  time,  the  closing 
years  of  his  life,  was  what  touched  him  to  the  quick, 
pained  him. 

Robbie  read  his  face,  and  anticipated  his  words. 
The  judge  was  angry,  and  when  he  spoke  he  looked 
Quirrell  full  in  the  face. 

"Joe  Quirrell,  you  touch  my  honor  now!  I  am  too 
old  to  thrash  you.  I  am  too  old  and  too  sensitive  ta 
have  my  name  coupled  with  the  suggestion  of  tricks 
and  frauds;  but,  by  God,  sir,  I  am  not  too  old  to  drive 
ahorse!  I'll  drive  the  mare  myself,  and  then  you  shall 
apologize  to  me  for  this  day's  talk!  Here,  Pompey^ 
bring  up  that  mare,  quick!" 

The  judge  had  divested  himself  of  his  coat,  vest, 
collar  and  tie,  and  as  the  negro  led  up  the  horse,  sprang^ 
into  the  sulky  seat  vvith  the  agility  of  a  boy. 

"Oh,  no,  judge,"  said  Robbie,  moving  up,  and  tak- 
ing the  old  man  kindly  but  firmly  in  his  arms,  "I  can't 
allow  that.  You  might  get  killed.  We  can't  afford  to 
lose  you.  If  it  is  to  protect  your  honor,  I'll  drive  the 
mare. ' ' 

He  lifted  the  old   man  to  the  ground,  and   quickly 


196  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

vaulted  into  the  vacated  seat.  Gathering  up  the  reins, 
he  said,  "I  do  this  for  you,  Judge  Bowers;  not  for  you, 
Mr.  Quirrell." 

"All  right,"  shouted  Quirrell,  whose  good  humor  had 
now  returned.  *' Knock  another  second  off  the  last 
heat,  and  I've  another  thousand  dollars  for  you." 

"Judge  Bowers,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  old 
gentleman,  "there's  my  hand.  Forgive  me,  sir,  I 
meant  no  offense." 

"Well,"  said  the  judge,  "since  no  harm's  done, 
here's  mine,  and  let  bygones  be  bygones.  But,  I  tell 
you,  Quirrell,  get  that  boy  of  mine  to  work  for  you  if 
you  can.  He  is  perfect  master  of  the  mare,  fairly  loves 
her,  and  she  will  trot  her  gizzards  out  for  him.  He 
raised  her,  and  she  knows  his  voice.  It  will  pay  you, 
if  you  are  going  to  trot  her,  to  give  him  an  interest  in 
her." 

"I'll  do  it,"  said  Quirrell,  "just  as  soon  as  he  comes 
out  of  the  heat.  By  gosh,  they're  off!  There  they 
go!"  he  shouted,  as  the  seven  horses,  Dewy  Iris  .inside 
and  already  a  length  ahead,  shot  past  in  a  cloud  of 
dust. 

"What  a  goer!"  exclaimed  Quirrell,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  Dewy  Iris  making  the  first  turn. 

"Wonderful!  Wonderful!"  said  Judge  Bowers, 
shading  his  eyes  as  the  mare  came  down  the  stretch, 
and  watching  her  superb  action  with  the  fond  gaze  of 
genuine  love. 

"A  thousand  dollars,  even  money,  that  she  does  this 
teat  in  2:10!"  he  continued,  producing  a  roll  of  bills. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  197 

*'Not  on  me,"  replied  Quirrell,  as  the  mare  went  un- 
der the  wire  like  a  whirlwind. 

"One  four  and  a  half,"  yelled  the  time  keeper  to  the 
spellbound  crowd ;  and  as  the  other  horses  came  teem- 
ing along  the  wild  cheers  were  turned  to  jeers  and 
laughter.  Such  expressions  as  "Push  on  the  lines!" 
"Grease  your  buggy  wheels !"  "  Where'd  j'^ou  get  that 
pelter?"  "Hurry  up  home  or  you'll  get  wet!"  were 
shouted  at  the  other  contestants  as  they  pounded  one 
after  another  past  the  Judge's  stand. 

Dewy  Iris,  still  going  beautifully,  had  just  swung 
into  the  stretch,  fully  twelve  seconds  ahead  of  Fast 
Asleep  who,  hugging  the  pole,  closely  pursued  by 
Get  There,  was  really  doing  a  2 :20  clip,  and  as  steady 
as  a  ship,  when  lo,  Dewy  Iris,  making  a  sudden  spring 
to  one  side,  reared  on  end,  on  her  hind  legs,  and  pawed 
the  dust-filled  air  for  a  second;  then  deliberately 
stopped  and  sat  plump  down  between  the  sulky  thills  in 
the  middle  of  the  track. 

All  was  over. 

On  came  Fast  Asleep,  on  came  Get  There.  Their  re- 
spective drivers,  swearing  and  whipping,  half-blinded 
with  dust  and  sweat,  not  prepared  for  the  sudden  ob- 
struction that  barred  their  way  to  victory,  intent  only 
on  winning,  could  not,  had  they  even  seen  Robbie's 
predicament,  turn  their  horses  in  time  to  avoid  a  col- 
lision. 

It  was  inevitable.  The  big  bay  horse,  his  steel  shoes 
shining  in  the  sun,  reared,  and  fell  over  the  stooping 
shoulders  of  Robbie  Porter,  and  right  behind  came  the 


198  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

other  horse  (whose  driver,  seeing  the  situation,  threw 
away  his  lines,  and  rolled  out  backward),  rearing  and 
plunging  amid  a  wreck  of  broken  seats,  flying  spokes 
and  scraps  of  harness. 

A  wild  cry,  a  cry  of  horror  went  up  from  that  mighty 
crowd. 

Strong  men,  men  who  had  faced  death  in  all  its  angry 
forms,  with  bloodless  cheeks  turned  away  their  faces. 
Women  screamed,  wrung  their  hands,  and  fainted. 

It  did  not  seem  that  out  of  that  inextricable  mass  of 
fallen  horses  and  broken  sulkies,  anything  could  escape; 
but,  quick  as  a  flash,  the  treacherous  favorite  sprang 
away  like  an  arrow  from  its  bow,  and,  with  jump  after 
jump,  her  eyes  bulging  out  till  they  threatened  to  fall 
from  their  sockets,  her  wide  nostrils  distended  till  it 
seemed  her  head  would  fall  apart,  dashed  past  the 
grand  stand,  still  fastened  to  the  sulky,  with  Robbie 
Porter  hanging  by  one  leg,  his  hat  off,  his  face  white 
as  death,  dangling  and  bouncing  from  behind,  his  head 
hitting  the  hard  earth  with  every  jump  of  the  mare. 

"Great  God!"  said  a  man,  dashing  toward  the 
track,  now  already  filled  with  shouting,  helpless  people. 

"Merciful  fathers!"  said  an  old  woman,  with  a  black 
"bonnet  and  white  hair. 

"Save  him!  Save  him!  Somebody  save  him!" 
screamed  Josephine  Bowers,  as  she  fell  in  a  dead  faint 
and  rolled  to  the  bottom  of  the  seats  of  the  grand  stand. 

But  on  went  the  mare.  There  was  no  man  hardy  or 
brave  enough  to  attempt  to  stop  that  irresistible  force. 
It    would    have    been  instant  death.      It    looked    as 


SHE   WAS   COMING    UP   THE   STRETCH,    RUNNING    LIKE   MAD. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  199 

though  the  splendid  achievements  of  Dewy  Iris  were  to 
conclude  with  an  awful  tragedy. 

The  driver  of  Get  There,  his  ribs  broken,  was  being 
carried  from  the  field.  The  track  was  crowded  thick 
with  men,  some  following  the  mad  career  of  the  flying* 
runaway,  others  trying  to  intercept  her  at  various 
points  along  the  course. 

She  was  coming  up  the  stretch  again,  running  like 
mad,  dragging  her  helpless  driver  behind,  when,  sud- 
denly, from  somewhere,  nobody  seemed  to  know,  a  man, 
taller  than  any  other  on  the  ground,  wearing  a  broad- 
brimmed,  brown  straw  hat,  long  white  hair,  waving 
out  behind,  a  William  Penn  coat,  the  tails  of  which 
stood  straight  out,  working  his  long  arms  like  those  of 
a  windmill,  made  his  way  through  the  staring,  awe- 
struck mob  of  men. 

His  hat  flew  off,  but  with  long  strides  he  ran  straight 
for  Dewy  Iris. 

It  did  not  seem  that  anybody  in  their  right  senses 
\vould  attempt  to  stop  the  mare,  but  of  a  certainty  this 
was  the  purpose  of  the  old  man. 

As  she  came  nearer,  he  stopped  right  in  her  path ; 
threw  up  both  arms,  and  shouted  so  that  he  could  have 
been  heard  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

"Whoa,  Dewy  Iris!" 

For  an  instant  it  seemed  the  wild  animal  paused,  but 
only  an  instant,  but  in  that  instant  those  powerful  long 
arms  shot  out  and  caught  in  their  muscular  hands  the 
iron  bit  of  the  mare.  The  concussion,  the  shock,  was 
terrible.     Only  a  Hercules  could  have  stood  up  after 


'200  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

contact  with  such  a  force.  Only  muscles  of  steel  could 
have  stayed  that  almost  irresistible  advance.  4s  it 
was,  Dewy  Iris  was  forced  back  on  her  haunches  and 
thence  over  on  her  side,  so  that  horse  and  man  rolled 
in  the  dust  together. 

"Bravo!     Bravo!"  shouted  ten  hundred  voices. 

*'Hurrah  for  the  Quaker!"  yelled  a  thousand  men. 

*'Three  cheers  for  the  broad  brim!"  shouted  others. 

Quick  as  lightning  the  old  man  was  on  his  feet. 

"Hold  her,"  he  said,  as  the  crowd  pressed  around. 

A  dozen  fell  upon  the  prostrate  animal,  and  in 
another  minute  Robbie  Porter,  in  the  old  man's  arms, 
his  hair  matted  with  blood  and  dust,  all  vestige  of  life 
apparently  fled  from  his  being,  blood  pouring  from  his 
mouth  and  nose,  was  being  tenderly  carried  from  the 
scene. 

The  old  man,  the  rescuer,  was  Phineas  Strong. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  201 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

The  reader,  I  kuow,  will  pardon  me  if  I  take  him 
from  the  tumultuous  scenes  of  the  racetrack  to  the  green 
fields  of  Virginia. 

It  is  really  nowadays  but  a  short  distance,  and  my 
purpose  is  to  again  gaze  upon  the  charming  Phoebe, 
whom,  as  you  no  doubt  remember,  we  left  sound  asleep 
in  Robbie  Porter's  bed,  that  dreary  morning  in 
November,  less  than  a  year  ago. 

It  is  loDg  ago  conceded,  that  great  grief  induces 
sound,  and  sometimes  long  sleep.  We  have  all  of  us 
been  told  that  the  Savior  of  the  world  slept  in  the  Gar- 
den of  Gethsemane,  though  in  the  shadow  of  death 
itself.  It  is  not,  therefore,  surprising  that  Phoebe, 
whose  heart  had  all  the  preceding  day  been  very  heavy 
and  very  sad  at  the  prospect  of  Robbie's  departure, 
would,  when  once  overcome  by  the  drowsy  god,  long 
continue  a  victim  of  his  charms.  She  did  not,  there- 
fore, appear  at  the  breakfast  table,  and  did  not  wake 
until  the  day  was  already  far  advanced, 

At  last,  however,  her  eyes  opened,  and  her  gaze  fell 
upon  the  placid  face  of  Rachel  Strong,  who  at  that  very 
moment  was  bending  over  her. 

Just  what  were  the  sensations  of  Phoebe  at  thus  find- 
ing herself  discovered  in  this  situation,  I  am  not  pre- 


202  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

pared  to  say.  Her  face  turned  white  and  then  red ;  she 
covered  it  with  her  hands  and  began  to  cry. 

"Phoebe!  Phoebe,"  at  last  spoke  the  good  woman, 
*' surely,  thee  did — "  she  hesitated,  "did  not  sleep  here 
last  night?" 

She  almost  hoped  Phoebe  would  deny  what  seemed 
all  too  palpable.  Phoebe  was  a  stranger  to  falsehood, 
and  could  no  more  express  it  with  her  tongue,  than  she 
could  in  her  face.  And  even  had  she  desired,  there  was 
no  probable  hypothesis  she  could  advance  that  would 
explain  her  presence  in  Bobbie's  bed,  in  her  night 
robes;  she,  therefore,  concluded  to  admit  what  seemed 
uselessness  to  deny,  and  abide  the  consequences. 

"My  mother,"  she  moaned  piteously,  "but  I  loved 
him  so,  I  couldn't  help  it.  It  was  my  fault;  besides  we 
were  married,  we  are  married.  Thee  knows  that  the 
Quaker  marriage  is  complete,  lawful,  when  each  gives 
himself  or  herself  to  the  other.  Heaven  knows  how 
sacred  is  ours.  Oh,  mother,  if  thee  has  ever  loved,  thee 
can,  thee  will,  forgive  me!  Take  me  in  thine  arms, 
and  tell  me  that  thou  lovest  me  still." 

She  threw  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  the  good 
woman,  drew  her  sweet,  kind  face  to  her  own,  and 
kissed  it  again  and  again. 

"Oh,  Phoebe,  Phoebe,  thee  has  disgraced  us!  Thy 
father  will  be  heart-broken,  should  he  know  it. 
Nothing  but  woe  will  come  of  it,  Phoebe.  It  will  all 
come  back  to  thee  in  after  life.  'Chickens  come  home 
to  roost,'  is  an  old  saying  and  a  true  one.  I  fear  thy 
father's  vv'rath,  ebould  aught  happen  of  it." 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  203 

**0h,  mother,  help  me!  Don't  tell  him!  Robbie 
will  soon  come  back,  and  then  we  will  be  married  in  the 
big  front  room,  in  the  presence  of  thee  and  him,  and  all 
the  servants.  No  harm  will  be  done.  Thee  won't  tell 
him?     Promise  me  that  thee  won't?" 

"I  promise,"  said  Rachel,  and  gave  the  forgiving 
kiss      For  the  present  Phoebe's  reputation  was  safe. 

After  receiving  Robbie's  first  letter  the  old-time  light 
of  happiness  illumined  her  beautiful  face.  A  second 
letter  came,  telling  about  his  new  home  and  Dewy 
Iris,  and  Phoebe  was  apparently  happier  than  ever. 

She  felt  secure  in  her  mother,  and  her  faith  in  Robbie 
•was  fixed,  unalterable.  In  her  heart  she  built  an  altar 
of  love,  around  which,  in  sweet  fragrance  and  royal 
colorings,  flourished  the  flowers  of  perpetual  affection. 
Should  they  die  or  perish,  Phcebe  hoped  to  fade  and 
perish  with  them,  Sbe  had  no  dreams,  no  hopes,  be- 
yond this  love.  It  was  her  world,  the  orbit  in  which 
she  daily  revolved.  In  it  with  her  was  Robbie  Porter. 
This  was  all.  All  that  she  dreamed,  all  that  she  de- 
sired. It  was  her  daily  wish,  often  thought,  her 
nightly  prayer,  often  expressed,  that  the  Infinite  Ruler 
of  the  universe,  who  had  given  her  the  power  to  love, 
would  give  her  the  courage  to  die,  should  she  lose  this 
object  of  her  rich,  pure,  unselfish,  holy  passion. 

But  the  time  came  when  Phoebe^s  days  were  despair- 
ing ones,  and  her  nights  even  sleepless.  Robbie's  let- 
ters had  ceased.  The  spring  had  come,  and  the  honey- 
suckle blossoms  were  sending  their  fresh  fragrance 
around  the  peaceful  scene.     The  birds  caroled  in  the 


204  CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

trees,  and  the  trout  sparkled  in  the  shining  river. 
The  summer  came  and  the  fullness  of  ripening  August 
was  seen  in  the  rosy  apples  of  the  trees,  in  the  golden 
corn  of  the  meadows,  and  in  the  whitening  oats  of  the 
hillside. 

But,  alas,  poor  Phoebe!  Nature's  varied  beauty,  na- 
ture's prodigal  gifts,  had  no  longer  charms  for  her. 
The  bloom  was  gone  from  her  cheeks,  the  light  had 
faded  in  her  wondrous  eyes,  the  music  had  deserted  her 
voice,  and  the  elasticity  of  youth  was  lacking  in  her 
limbs.  Trustfully,  day  by  day,  she  believed;  faith- 
fully, day  by  day,  she  hoped,  till- at  last  hope  died  in 
her  heart  and  despair  took  possession  of  her  mind. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  August,  in  the  evening,  while 
sitting  by  her  father's  side,  she  suddenly  burst  into  a 
fit  of  uncontrollable  weeping.  Her  grief  increased  to 
such  a  degree,  that  she  grew  hysterical,  and  at  last,  fell 
swooning  to  the  floor. 

Tenderly  Phineas  Strong  took  her  in  his  arms,  and 
calling  '^Mother!  mother!"  carried  her  to  her  room, 
and,  as  he  laid  her  on  the  bed,  for  the  first  time  de- 
tected her  condition.  The  revelation  came  to  him  so 
suddenly  as  to  deprive  him,  for  the  moment,  of  both 
the  power  of  locomotion  and  of  speech. 

"Mother,"  he  finally  gasped,  pointing  to  the  pros- 
trate and  lifeless  form,  "what  does  this  mean?  Does 
thee  see?     Thee  must  have  noticed  it.'* 

"Yes,  Phineas,  I  have  noticed  it.  I  wanted  to  tell 
thee,  but  she  begged  me  day  after  day,  hoping  he  would 
come,  that  I  had  not  heart  to  deny  her!" 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO    ROOST.  205 

*'Who  come?"  queried  Phineas. 

"Robert!" 

"Robert,"  echoed  the  old  man;  "Robert — Robert 
Porter.  No,  Rachel,  thee  must  be  mistaken !  Robert  i.^ 
too  honorable !" 

"That  is  what  she  thought;  that  is  what  I  thought; 
that  is  what  we  all  thought;  but  she  has  not  even  heard 
from  him  since  a  month  after  he  left,  though  she  has 
written  him  repeatedly.  The  letters  do  not  come  back, 
so  he  must  have  received  them." 

"There  is  something  wrong  here,  Rachel.  Robbie 
Porter  is  not  that  kind  of  a  boy ;  where  did  thee  say  he 
had  gone?" 

"Lancaster,  Pennsylvania." 

"And  does  thee  remember  with  whom  it  was  he  was 
living?" 

"Bowers,  yes;  a  Judge  Bowers.  I  am  sure  that  is 
the  name." 

"Mother,"  said  Phineas  Strong  earnestly,  "she  is 
safe  in  thy  hands.  Console  her,  comfort  her.  I  go  to 
find  Robbie  Porter.  I  will  return  with  him,  if  he  be 
yet  in  the  land  of  the  living." 

"Thee  will  not  start  to-night,  Phineas?" 

"Yes,  to-night,  at  once.  I  will  mount  Queen  Bess 
and  will  be  in  Washington  by  early  dawn ;  in  Balti- 
more by  sundown,  and  there  will  get  a  fresh  mount 
from  my  friend,  Hiram  HoUiday,  the  horse  dealer.  I 
ought  to  be  home  in  sis  days  with  Robbie.  Farewell," 
he  said,  leaning  over  and  pressing  a  kiss  to  the  up- 
turned lips  of  his  wife,  and  the  old  man  was  gone. 


306  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST» 

Ere  the  sun  had  risen  he  was  crossing  the  bridge 
•which  spanned  the  Potomac  River  at  Washington. 

But  that  same  sun,  pouring  its  relentless  rays  upon 
this  sacred  old  head,  and  his  wearied  horse,  compelled 
both  to  seek  shade  and  rest,  so  that  it  was  nearly  two 
o'clock,  August  5th,  when  Phineas  Strong  rode  into  the 
city  of  Lancaster. 

The  fences,  barns,  and  rocks,  as  he  rode  along,  ap- 
prised him  of  the  fact  that  the  county  fair  was  being 
held. 

The  posters  that  met  his  gaze  at  nearly  every  corner 
also  told  him  that  Dewy  Iris,  property  of  S.  P.  Bowers, 
driven  by  Robert  Porter,  was  on  that  day  to  contest  for 
the  purses  offered  in  the  2 :20  race.  He,  therefore,  rode 
on  to  the  fair  grounds,  passed  the  gate,  gave  his 
horse  to  the  care  of  a  negro,  and  had  just  seated  him- 
self at  the  end  of  the  grand  stand  nearest  the  paddock, 
intending  to  speak  to  Robbie  as  he  came  from  the 
course.  He  had  barely  adjusted  himself  on  the  wooden 
seat  when  the  collision  took  place. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  207 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

*'A  DOCTOR,  call  a  doctor,"  commanded  Pbineas 
Strong,  as  he  took  the  limp  and  lifeless  Robbie  to  the 
shelter  of  the  grand  stand. 

The  doctor  came,  bent  over  the  body,  listened  atten- 
tively, and  announced  in  a  professional,  unfeeling  way 
that  the  heart  still  beat. 

By  this  time  Josephine  Bowers,  who  had  now  recov- 
ered her  senses,  arrived  before  the  doctor  and  his  pros- 
trate victim. 

"My  carriage,  quick!"  she  said,  seeing  her  coach- 
man standing  near. 

She  knelt  down  in  the  dust,  unmindful  of  her  sum- 
mer silk,  and  took  Robbie  Porter's  head  in  her  lap. 
Tenderly  she  wiped  the  blood  from  his  face,  and  gently 
stirred  the  air  with  her  perfumed  fan. 

"To  my  house!"  she  commanded,  as  the  carriage  ap- 
peared. 

It  was  a  large,  richly  upholstered  victoria,  with 
wide,  deep  cushions,  and  into  it  stepped  Phineas  Strong, 
with  Robbie  in  his  arms,  as  though  he  had  been  an 
infant. 

The  doctor  and  Mrs.  Bowers  followed,  and  the  whole 
party  proceeded  by  the  nearest  route  to  her  home,  where 
Robbie,  still  carried  by  Phineas  Strong,  still  uncon- 
scious, was  laid  upon  his  own  bed. 


208  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

All  known  restoratives  were  applied,  but  in  vain. 
His  eyes  opened  not,  his  lips  parted  not,  save  to  mut- 
ter guttural  sounds,  and  emit  clots  of  blood. 

An  examination  showed  his  ankle  bone  was  broken, 
a  deep  cut  in  the  small  of  the  back,  evidently  made  by 
a  horse's  hoof,  several  contusions  over  the  right  ear, 
the  skull  fractured  at  its  base  just  above  the  muscles  of 
the  neck,  and  considerably  depressed. 

After  four  hours  of  labor,  and  with  the  aid  of  two 
assistant  brother  physicians,  the  doctors  agreed  that  the 
injuries  were  fatal,  and  said  death  would  ensue  within 
a  few  hours,  in  a  day  at  the  furthest. 

"No!  no  I"  almost  screamed  Mrs.  Bowers,  "you 
must  not  say  that;  you  must  save  him.  There  must  be 
some  way.     Oh,  say  there  is!" 

"There  is  none,  unless,"  added  one  of  the  doctors, 
"we  could  perform  an  operation.  Remove  the  pressure 
of  the  broken  skull,  animation  might  be  restored — there 
is  one  chance  in  a  thousand." 

"Take  the  chance,"  pleaded  the  woman.  "He  is 
strong,  he  will  recover.     Oh,  do  try !" 

"We  are  not  surgeons,  Mrs.  Bowers,"  replied  one  of 
the  doctors.  "There  is  only  one  man  in  America  who 
could  undertake  so  delicate  an  operation,  and  he  would 
charge  a  thousand  dollars!" 

"And  who  is  he?"  asked  Phineas  Strong. 

"Dr.  Langdon,  of  Philadelphia." 

The  name,  everybody  thought,  rather  startled  the 
quiet  Quaker,  and  he  was  seen  to  change  color.  He 
was  about  to  reply,  but  before  he  could  do  so  Josephine 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  209 

Bowers  broke  out  with:  "Oh,  send  for  him  at  once. 
Telegraph  him,  have  him  take  the  first  train.  Go, 
quick.  I  will  pay  ten  thousand  dollars !  Hurry!"  she 
continued.  "Do,  doctor,  run!"  and  she  bundled  one  of 
the  doctors  from  the  room.  "There,"  handing  him  a 
twenty-dollar  bill,  "telegraph  his  expenses,  tell  him 
that  he  can  name  his  own  fee.     Do  go!"  she  entreated. 

All  night  they  sat  by  the  bedside,  Phineas  Strong 
and  Josephine  Bowers.  She  learned  his  name  and 
guessed  the  rest.  And,  without  directly  telling  him  so, 
contrived  to  create  the  impression  that  Robbie  Porter 
was  now  affianced  to  one  of  the  richest  ladies  in  all 
Lancaster,  who  would,  no  doubt,  be  at  his  side  the 
moment  she  was  apprised  of  the  disaster. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when 
Phineas  Strong  rose  from  his  chair,  took  Robbie's  hand 
in  his  own,  looked  lovingly  and  sadly  into  his  face, 
turned  to  Mrs.  Bowers  and  said : 

"There  is  nothing  I  can  do.  Should  Robert  recover 
and  need  money,  send  direct  to  me.  To  my  mind  he  is 
already  beyond  hope.  My  daughter  is  ill  at  home, 
perhaps  dying.  I  do  not  care  to  meet  the  physician 
who  is  to  perform  the  operation.  Thy  kindness  will  be 
rewarded.  Should  he  die,  kindly  iPiform  me.  Fare- 
well." So  saying  he  walked  from  the  room.  Four 
days  later  he  rode  into  his  dooryard  at  River  View. 

It  was  dusk,  no  one  had  seen  him  approach.  He  en- 
tered his  home,  and  walked  direct  to  Phoebe's  room. 

The  cry  of  an  infant  greeted  his  ears,  as  he  gently 
pushed  aside  the  door. 


210  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  the  train  which  bore  Dr. 
Langdon  arrived  in  Lancaster.  It  was  nearly  noon 
before  his  examination  of  Robbie  Porter  determined 
him  what  to  do.  Robbie  still  lived,  but  his  eyes  re- 
mained closed  and  his  tongue  powerless.  He  was  like 
a  dead  man  save  that  he  breathed.  The  power  to  move 
his  body,  raise  his  hands,  or  shift  his  legs  was  gone. 
Complete  paralysis  seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of 
every  muscle  and  every  limb. 

The  excitement  attending  the  runaway  and  its  ap- 
parent fatal  results  so  completely  occupied  the  minds  of 
the  Bowers'  household  it  was  not  till  the  next  morning, 
the  absence  of  the  judge  excited  remark.  In  the  con- 
fusion of  evening,  and  in  the  grief  that  seemed  to  per- 
vade every  heart,  many  reasons  might  have  been  ad- 
vanced why  he  did  not  appear.  It  was  possibly 
thought  by  some  that  he  was  too  deeply  affected.  It 
was  generally  known  he  had  been  the  cause  of  Robbie's 
accident,  having  urgtd  him  to  drive  against  his  will. 
This,  many  argued,  would  so  touch  the  judge,  whose 
heart  was  so  deeply  sensitive,  that  he  could  not  look  upon 
his  dying  friend.  At  any  rate,  the  judge  did  not  appear 
either  at  the  supper  or  the  breakfast  table.  The  noon 
hour  came  and  still  no  judge. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   R003T.  211 

Four  doctors,  Mrs.  Bowers,  and  all  nf  the  servants, 
were  occupied  most  of  the  afternoon  with  the  patient. 
Opiates  had  to  be  administered,  bandages  made,  mes- 
sages sent,  and  errands  run,  so  that  the  house  was 
bustle  and  hurry  and  excitement  till  near  sundown. 

The  operation,  by  which  the  doctors  hoped  to  save 
Eobbie  Porter's  life  and  return  him  to  consciousness, 
consisted  first,  in  shaving  all  the  hair  from  the  back 
part  of  the  head ;  and  in  sawing  away  pieces  of  skull 
from  around  the  fracture,  and  the  adjusting  these  pieces 
so  as  to  remove  all  pressure  from  the  brain.  The  task 
was  not  only  an  extremely  delicate  one,  but  necessarily 
tedious. 

That  a  patient  reduced  to  such  extremities  should 
survive,  there  was  only  a  remote  possibility;  and  the 
anxiety  induced  by  its  performance  was  uppermost  in 
the  minds  of  every  one.  The  adjacent  neighbors,  the 
servants,  and  Josephine  Bowers  above  all,  were  so 
completely  absorbed  in  the  prospect  of  the  untimely 
fate  momentarily  expected  to  overtake  poor  Robbie,  that 
Judge  Bowers  was  really  overlooked,  forgotten. 

The  sun  was  setting  that  warm  Saturday  when  at- 
tendants at  the  fair  grounds  found  him  crouching  in  a 
corner  of  the  stable  that  had  been  used  by  Dewy  Iris. 

The  old  man  was  stark  naked.  In  front  of  him,  torn 
into  fragments,  lay  the  five  thousand  dollars  given  him 
by  Joe  Quirrell.  The  draft  for  twenty-five  thousand 
was  held  in  his  bony  hands,  and  as  the  attendant  who 
discovered  him  entered,  he  was  murmuring  in  a  plain- 
tive tone : 


212  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

"In  the  tirst  chariot  were  red  horses;  and  in  the 
second  chariot  black  horses;  and  in  the  third  chariot 
white  horses ;  and  in  the  fourth  chariot  grizzled  and 
bay  horses. 

*'Aud  I  looked  and  beheld  a  pale  horse,  and  his  name 
that  sat  on  him  was  Death." 

They  led  him  from  the  gloomy  shadows  of  the  stable, 
and  the  dying  rays  of  the  sun  fell  across  his  white  and 
wrinkled  face.  One  glance  was  suflScient  to  confirm 
the  suspicion.  From  his  eyes  the  look  of  reason  had 
died  out,  never  to  return.  The  old  man  was  a  >ielpless 
imbecile. 

The  excitement  of  the  race,  the  joy  of  its  first  suc- 
cess, and  the  awful  catastrophe  attending  the  conclu- 
sion, were  too  much  for  this  high-strung,  nervous,  yet 
tender-hearted  old  man.  The  horrible  thought  that  his 
enthusiasm  and  pride  had  caused  the  death  of  his  noble 
protege,  whom  he  already  loved  as  a  son,  was  more  than 
he  could  stand.  His  old  heart  broke  then  and  there, 
and  from  that  powerful  throne  upon  which  for  years 
burned  with  undiminished  luster  the  light  of  learning, 
of  justice,  and  a  warm  affection,  there  forever  fled  that 
sweeter  light  of  reason. 

What  many  had  for  the  last  few  years  predicted  as 
to  the  mental  condition  of  Judge  Bowers  was  now  ap- 
parent. 

The  heartless  said  : 

"Well,  the  old  judge  is  crazj^at  last  I" 

"Just  as  I  expected!"  said  another. 

"Pretty  near  it  long  ago!"  said  a  third. 


CHICKENS   COME    HOME   TO   ROOST.  313 

Late  that  evening  they  took  him  to  the  Norristown 
asylum  for  the  insane. 

The  Monday  evening  after  the  accident,  Robbie  Por- 
ter opened  his  eyes,  and  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  sur- 
veyed the  ceiling  of  his  own  bedchamber.  His  glance, 
wandering  from  one  familiar  object  to  another,  finally 
rested  upon  the  tear-stained  and  now  haggard  face  of 
Josephine  Bowers.  She  was  sitting  by  his  side,  and 
the  tears  were  coursing  over  her  face  and  falling 
silently  into  her  lap. 

The  flush  of  youth  had  fled  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes 
were  red  and  swollen. 

For  many  minutes  Robbie  contemplated  this  picture  of 
woe,  trying  vainly  in  some  way  to  reconcile  it  to  what 
he  imagined  must  be  the  condition  of  things.  Slowly, 
painfully,  the  vision  of  the  terrible  scene  of  the  race- 
track passed  before  him.  His  head  thumped  and 
ached,  and  he  put  his  hand  up  to  stop  the  pain.  He 
had  no  idea  of  the  time;  the  room  was  heavily  shaded, 
and  the  parting  sunbeams  were  throwing  soft  shadows 

over  the  scene. 

« 

Long,  however,  he  looked  upon  the  weeping  woman. 

"Why  was  she  here?"  he  thought. 

"Where  was  the  judge?"  and  "Who  caught  the  run- 
away?" These  were  some  of  the  thoughts  of  that  poor 
distressed  head.  At  last  he  spoke.  "Was  anybody 
else  hurt?" 

For  an  instant  Mrs.  Bowers  doubted  her  ears.  She 
never  expected  to  hear  him  speak  again,  A  look  of 
intense  asifconishment,   of  doubt,  overspread  her   face. 


314  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

It  was  one  of  joy  when  she  turned  it  and  beheld  his 
wondering  gaze,  full  of  pity,  fixed  upon  her  own. 

"Oh !"  She  gasped  it  out,  and  clutched  the  bedding. 
"Oh!"  she  said  again,  pressing  a  hand  over  her 
heart.     ' '  You — you — can — can — speak?' ' 

"Why,  yes,  though  it  is  painful — b " 

"Stop!"  she  said  quickly.  "You  must  not  talk,  you 
must  not  think,  you  must  not  know,  not  for  days. 
Here,  close  your  eyes.  Merciful  God!"  she  went  on, 
sliding  to  her  knees  by  the  side  of  the  bed.  "Forgive 
me  for  my  doubt.  Forgive  me  for  my  ingratitude. 
Never  again,  oh,  never  again,  will  I  question  Thy  mercy 
and  Thy  goodness!" 

Her  sincerity  was  so  evident  it  was  pitiful. 

"How  long,"  asked  Robbie,  as  she  composed  herself 
in  her  chair,  "have  I  lain  here?" 

"Oh,  don't  talk,  please  don't!"  she  said  appealingly, 
passing  her  hand  gently  over  his  mouth.  "The  doctor 
said  you  mustn't  even  think  for  days  yet.  Just  keep 
quiet,  and  I  will  tell  you  everything.  You  won't  talk, 
will  you?" 

"  Not  if  you  will  tell  me  truly  who  stopped  the  run- 
away." 

This,  of  all  others,  was  the  question  she  most 
dreaded,  and  most  disliked  to  answer. 

"An  old  man,"  she  replied. 

His  eyes  mutely  but  unmistakably  demanded  to 
know  his  name. 

"Phineas  Strong,"  she  answered  quietly. 

She  feared  the  effect,  but  there  seemed  no  escape. 


^  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  315 

Bobbie  spoke  not,  only  closed  his  eyes,  and  his  help- 
less hands  failed  utterly  to  conceal  the  tears  that 
streamed  over  his  cheeks,  and  wet  either  side  of  the 
pillow. 

"There!"  she  said  tenderly,  soothingly,  *'don't  cry. 
It  was  the  bravest  deed  that  was  ever  done.  Lie  quiet 
now,  till  I  get  you  some  nourishment.  Don't  think,  or 
speak  till  I  como  back.  Then  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it."  She  quitted  the  room  a  changed  woman  and, 
strange  to  say,  with  a  heart  fairly  bounding  with  joyj 
lighter  far  than  it  was  on  her  wedding  day. 


216  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

Thus  it  was,  reader,  that,  about  the  time  in  that  old 
dark  room  at  River  View  there  was  born  upon  the 
sea  of  life  a  frail,  budding  blossom,  the  mutual  pledge 
of  a  sinless  sin,  the  life  of  the  young,  strong,  powerful 
Robbie  Porter  was  also  struggling  for  existence. 

Fate  decreed  that  they  should  some  day  meet,  and 
fate  decreed  that  these  two  should  live.  Fate  decreed 
that  face  to  face,  bosom  to  bosom,  father  and  daughter 
should  one  day  be  folded  in  each  other's  arms. 

Phineas  Strong,  with  tread  lighter  than  his  heart, 
tiptoed  to  the  bed  on  which  lay  Phoebe  and  her  infant 
daughter,  now  closing  its  fourth  day's  existence  in  a 
world,  which,  in  spite  of  tears,  in  spite  of  broken  hopes 
and  heavy  hearts,  in  spite  of  lost  loves,  in  spite  of 
wasted  wealth,  in  spite  of  false  friends,  in  spite  of  open 
enemies,  is  yet  a  world  of  beauty,  of  goodness  and  of 
desire. 

"Phoebe!"  gently  spoke  the  old  man,  leaning  over 
the  prostrate  form  of  his  daughter.  But  Phoebe  slept. 
The  baby  cried  louder. 

Reaching  over,  and  lifting  the  bawling  mite  into  his 
arms,  Phineas  Strong  pressed  the  bundle  of  dimity  and 
muslin  against  his  big  breast,  seated  himself  in  a  low 
rocker,  and  softly  hummed  "Rido  a  cock  horse  to  Bram- 


CHICtCENS   COMiE  HOME  TO   ROOST.  SI? 

bury  Cross,"  his  hand  and  foot  keeping  time,  when 
Bachel  Strong  entered  the  room. 

"Phineas!"  she  exclaimed,  going  quickly  to  his  side, 
and  pressing  a  kiss  upon  his  forehead. 

The  baby  had  ceased  to  cry. 

"Mother!"  said  Phineas,  taking  one  of  her  hands 
in  his  own,  and  drawing  her  to  him. 

**Hush!"  he  continued.  "The  baby  is  sleeping!" 
She  sat  down  by  his  side,  still  holding  one  of  his  hands. 

"And  what  about  Robert?"  she  asked. 

He  began  and  told  her  everything  in  connection  with 
his  trip,  and  concluded  his  narrative  with  the  state- 
ment: "Not  caring  to  meet  Dr.  Langdon,  I  left  the 
scone.  Robert  is  now  dead,  as  the  doctor  told  me  there 
was  no  possible  chance  of  his  recovery!" 

It  never  occurred  to  Phineas  Strong  that  Phoebe 
might  wake  and  hear  this  part  of  his  discourse.  It  had 
been  his  intention  to  tell  her  that  Robbie  was  hurt,  and 
might  recover,  and  unless  he  received  from  Mrs. 
Bowers  the  announcement  of  his  death,  to  go  again  in 
a  few  weeks  and  bring  him  home. 

Phoebe,  however,  had  really  awoke  before  the  narra- 
tive concluded,  and  had  heard  all  about  the  accident. 

Phineas  Strong,  therefore,  had  hardly  finished  his 
sentence,  when  a  scream,  loud  and  piercing,  blood  chill- 
ing, issued  from  the  bed  clothing,  rang  through  the 
room,  and  penetrated  every  apartment  of  the  old  house. 

The  servants  in  the  kitchen  heard  it,  and  came  flying 
to  the  scene.  It  was  a  wail,  a  scream,  whose  intona- 
tions reflected  the  grief  and  agony  of  a  breaking  heart. 


218  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 

Phineas  sprang  to  his  feet,  let  go  the  baby,  and  took 
the  distracted  mother  in  his  arms.  It  was  with 
difficulty  his  strong  grasp  could  restrain  her  impulse  to 
pitch  herself  headlong  from  the  bed. 

"Phoebe!  Phoebe!"  he  commanded,  **do  compose 
thyself.  It  may  not  be  so  bad  1  There,  there,  don't 
take  on  so.     He  may  recover!" 

Poor  Phoebe  was  sobbing,  and  her  bosom  trembled  as 
if  shaken  with  an  ague. 

"Oh,  father!  father!"  she  moaned.  "I  dreamed  it! 
I  saw  it !  He  is  dead !  Robbie !  My  Robbie  is  dead  I 
Oh,  father,  let  me  die  too !  There  is  nothing  more  now. 
Nothing  but  disgrace!    Nothing  but  death!" 

Phineas  gently  forced  her  upon  the  pillow,  and  tak- 
ing the  baby  from  Rachel,  who  fortunately  had  rescued 
it  as  it  slid  from  his  hands,  placed  the  little  thing  in 
her  arms. 

"There,  there,"  he  continued  soothingly,  "for  baby's 
sake,  thee  must  live.  Think  of  the  little  one.  It  will 
need  a  mother's  love,  a  mother's  care.  Look  at  the 
little  thing;  its  blue  eyes  are  open!" 

The  baby  had  actually  opened  its  little  eyes,  and  was 
gazing  with  a  wondering  expression,  first  at  Phoebe's 
face,  and  then  at  the  face  of  the  old  man. 

"Oh,  take  it  away!"  begged  Phoebe,  "take  it  away. 
I  want  to  die,  and  hope  it  will  die  with  me.  I  could 
not  beiar  to  live  now.  To  look  at  his  child  would  only 
remind  me  of  my  dishonor;  that  will  haunt  me  daily, 
and"  (pushing  the  infant  from  her  breast),  "thee  will 
be  the  living  sign  of  my  shame.'* 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME    TO   ROOST.  319 

She  buried  her  face  in  lier  pillow,  and  sobbed  with 
unrestrained  interruption.  Consoling,  loving  words 
from  father  and  mother  at  last  lulled  her  to  quiet,  and 
long  after  midnight,  to  sleep. 

But,  in  the  morning,  more  poignantly  than  ever,  it 
seemed,  her  grief  came  back,  so  that  ere  the  day  closed 
she  had  sobbed  herself  sick,  and  was  raving  in  a  fever 
of  delirium.  She  grew  rapidly  worse,  and  a  physician 
from  Fredericksburg  was  sent  for.  He  came  daily  for 
five  weeks.  The  last  day  he  came  he  brought  a  letter 
for  Phineas  Strong.  It  was  postmarked  "Lancaster, 
Pa."     It  was  a  note  from  Josephine  Bowers.     It  read: 

*' Phineas  Strong. 

*'Dear  Sir:  Pursuant  to  request,  I  write  to  inform 
you  that  your  nephew,  Robert  Porter,  died  yesterday 
in  a  Harrisburg  hospital.  His  clothes  I  have  this  day 
forwarded  to  your  address  by  Adams  Express  Com- 
pany. His  injuries  required  surgical  operations,  which 
ended  his  life.  Have  attended  to  everything.  All 
bills  are  paid.  Respectfully, 

* '  J  OSEPHINE  B  O WERS. ' ' 

They  did  not  show  this  to  Phoebe.  The  poor  girl  was 
already  beyond  human  aid  or  medical  skill,  and  yet 
had  that  letter  contained  tidings  of  Robbie  Porter's  re- 
covery;  that  he  was  alive,  the  prospect  of  seeing  him 
again  would  have  revived  the  dying  girl,  and  I  verily 
believe  she  would  have  lived,  would  have  recovered, 
would  have  smiled  again,  would  have  blushed,  and 
would  have  hugged  to  her  wasted  breast  the  tender  little 


320  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

plant  that  was  now  drawing  sustenance  from  a  good- 
hearted  black  woman,  who  was  robbing  her  own  child 
that  little  Phoebe,  as  the  baby  was  called,  might  not 
perish. 

The  doctor  lingered  long  at  River  View  that  day, 
seeming  loath  to  tell  these  good  people  that  there  was 
nothing  more  he  could  do  for  the  broken-hearted  patient. 
True,  the  fever  had  disappeared,  and  there  was  a  faint 
hope  of  her  recovery.  But  she  refused  all  nourishment 
and  had  sunk  into  a  hopeless,  helpless  melancholy. 
Neither  cheery  words,  nor  solace,  nor  promises  of 
travel,  nor  sweet  assurances  of  forgiveness,  complete, 
tender  and  touching,  not  even  the  love  of  her  baby, 
could  revive  her  spirits,  or  kindle  the  light  of  yore  anew 
in  those  wondrous  eyes. 

By  her  side  her  hands  rested,  transparent  and  thin. 
Her  face  had  become  a  bluish  white,  and  her  once  red 
lips  pale  as  ashes.  Her  eyes  had  sunk  down  deep  be- 
hind the  shadows  of  those  long  lashes,  and  were  now 
too  dry  and  set  and  hard  for  even  tears  to  flow. 

The  beautiful  Phoebe,  reader,  the  healthy,  blushing, 
innocent,  pure,  good,  tender-hearted  Phoebe,  was 
changed  to  a  ghost-like  wraith,  whose  marble  brow  and 
coal  black  hair  formed  almost  a  horrible  contrast  to 
gaze  upon. 

Her  pulse  throbbed,  and  her  heart  beat,  but  her 
tongue  long  ago  ceased  to  speak.  She  looked  at 
nothing,  asked  for  nothing,  and  rarely  heard  anything. 
When  they  brought  her  baby,  in  the  hope  to  cheer  her, 
or  arouse  her  from  her  lethargy,  her  face  put  on  a  pain- 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  221 

ful  expression;  and  now  the  little  thing  was  never 
brought  into  her  room. 

On  departing  that  day  the  doctor  told  Phineas 
Strong  there  was  no  use  in  his  coming  again. 

"Medicine,"  he  said,  "will  do  her  no  good.  Her 
affection  is  one  of  the  heart.  If  you  could  persuade  her 
to  eat  something,  she  might  get  well,  but  without  stimu- 
lants or  nourishment  there  is  no  hope."     He  rode  away. 

In  vain  Rachel  prepared  one  tempting  morsel  after 
another.  They  were  refused.  In  vain  she  coaxed,  and 
pleaded;  Phoeb«  ate  not,  smiled  not,  spoke  not.  And 
so  the  end  canne;  so  quietly,  so  peacefully,  that  those 
who  watched  her  could  scarcely  discern  when  the 
animate  ceased  and  the  inanimate  began.  Around  her 
mouth,  however,  just  as  the  breath  escaped,  some  angel 
painted  a  smile,  a  smile  of  peace,  which  lingered  there, 
to  light  up  again  with  the  sign  of  life  that  pale  sweet 
face. 

When  they  laid  her  out,  clutched  in  her  hand,  in  the 
dying  grasp  of  parting  existence,  was  found  the  tintype 
picture  Bobbie  Porter  had  sent  her  from  Baltimore. 

In  the  eyes  of  all  who  were  cognizant  of  her  melan- 
choly story,  Phoebe  Strong  had  committed  the  unpar- 
donable sin.  Therefore,  except  from  those  of  Phineas 
Strong,  his  wife  Bachel,  and  those  faithful  black 
people,  to  whom  Phoebe  had  always  been  an  idol,  no 
tears  fell  on  her  bier. 

Under  a  huge  cedar  in  that  little  burying  ground, 
beside  the  grave  of  the  color  bearer,  whose  bravery  had 
waved  the  flag  of  his  country   before    the   belching 


222  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

cannon  of  Fredericksburg  and  Chancellorsville,  they 
laid  the  body  of  the  fairest  of  all  Virginia's  fair  daugh- 
ters. But,  reader,  no  long  line  of  somber  mourners, 
with  bowed  heads,  gathered  at  her  grave.  In  the  pres- 
ence of  the  awful  shadow,  Death,  no  consoling  neigh- 
bors came  to  solace  or  to  cheer.  No,  not  one.  Her 
pall  bearers  were  four  black  men;  her  only  white 
mourners  were  Phineas  Strong  and  his  wife.  Hand  in 
hand  they  left  the  new  grave. 

"Chickens  come  home  to  roost!"  said  Rachel. 

"Chickens  come  home  to  roost!"  replied  Phineas. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

Were  this  story  all  fiction,  and  made  no  pretense  to 
anything  but  the  creation  of  fancy,  it  would  have  been 
an  easy  matter  to  have  spared  the  reader  the  pain  -which 
the  death  of  so  sweet  a  character  as  Phoebe  no  doubt 
causes.  Fidelity  to  the  truth  of  my  narrative  com- 
pelled a  description  and  an  account  of  that  melancholy 
event.  The  untimely,  unexpected  and  peculiar  circum- 
stances surrounding  the  death  of  so  virtuous,  so  amiable 
a  character  induced  no  end  of  talk  in  the  neighborhood. 
By  degrees  the  story  of  the  unhappy  romance,  and  ti.e 
knowledge  of  its  living  sequel  became  the  theme  or 
every  tongue,  and  for  years  its  sad  incidents  lingered 
in  the  memory  of  all. 

No  sympathy,  however,  expressed  or  implied,  was 
ever  extended  to  the  unhappy  Strongs.  In  the  eyes  of 
a  censorious  public,  the  indiscretion  of  poor  Phoebe  had 
met  with  its  logical  reward.  In  the  misery  of  her 
parents,  whose  grief,  silent,  tearless,  was  deep  and  per- 
manent, the  hand  and  judgment  of  God  were  seen, 
and,  I  fear,  applauded. 

It  was  not  very  long,  therefore,  until  those  neigh- 
bors, debtors  of  Phineas  Strong,  one  by  one  discharged 
the  obligations  they  owed,  and  this  done,  shunned  moro 
and  more  the  inhabitants  of  River  View.     Mothers  and 


224-  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

sisters,  though  they  recalled  in  whispers  dead  Phoebe's 
name,  promptly  forgot  the  scene  of  her  life  and  death. 
For  the  little  waif  whose  tenacity  made  it  an  unwilling 
and  motherless  survivor,  they  conceived  a  feeling  very 
much  like  horror.  They  described  it  as  a  nameless 
thing,  and  used  the  fact  of  its  existence  as  an  illustra- 
tion to  point  a  moral. 

It  was  not  very  long,  therefore,  before  those  social 
barriers  once  erected  about  the  good  Quaker  and  his 
household,  and  once  demolished,  were  again  reared, 
higher,  stronger  than  before.  His  goodness,  his  gen- 
erosity, his  frankness  were  all  forgotten.  His  daugh- 
ter's conduct  had  dishonored  her  name,  and  from  the 
pale  of  respectability  banished  also  those  of  Phineas 
and  Rachel.  And  though  it  was  known  that  Robbie 
Porter  was  the  father  of  the  child,  the  recreant  lover, 
and  the  real  cause  of  the  death  of  the  broken-hearted 
girl,  not  one  word  of  blame  or  censure  was  attached  to 
him.  He  was  very  young,  and  Phoebe  was  so  much 
older,  so  near  being  an  old  maid,  that  she  was  at  fault. 

"It  served  .  her  right!"  said  the  widow  Kemper. 
"And  she  got  just  what  all  forward  girls  get!  So  nice, 
too;  wouldn't  ever  dance  because  the  men  put  their 
arms  round  her.  Yes,  I've  often  heard  say  that  they 
who  are  prudes  in  public,  sin  very  easy  in  private.  So 
jealous,  too,  she  was.  Why,  she  wouldn't  even  let 
Robbie  Porter  go  home  with  the  girls  from  parties. 
She  was  always  tagging  around  after  the  lad.  She  never 
went  to  ride  that  she  didn't  have  him  with  her.  Well, 
I  hope  she's  got  enough  of  him.     Even  told  my  daugh- 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST.  225 

ter  once  that  she  was  too  young  to  have  a  beau.  Why, 
she  must  have  been  thirty,  if  she  was  a  day.  Well, 
laws  knows,  Dora  never  wanted  her  fellow,  though  I 
make  no  doubt  Dora  could  have  had  him.  Still  he  was 
as  fine  a  young  man  as  there  is  in  these  parts,  and  Dora 
might  have  gone  further  and  fared  worse,  as  the  sayin' 
is.  Ah,  well,  it's  a  warnin'  to  all  young  girls,  and  old 
ones,  too,  for  a  matter  of  that.  They  should  have  hus- 
bands for  their  beds  before  they  have  babies  for  their 
cradles — remember  that!"  she  said,  addressing  the 
blushing  Dora. 

At  that  very  moment  Dora  Kemper  was  thinking  of 
Robbie  Porter,  and  inwardly  hoping  the  report  of  his 
death  was  false.  Had  he  entered  the  home  of  the  Kem- 
pers  then,  mother  and  daughter  would  have  welcomed 
him,  the  former  with  extended  hands  and  voice  of 
gladness,  and  the  latter  with  the  most  winning  smile, 
the  most  modest  blushes  a  young,  ardent  and  designing 
maiden  could  employ. 

And  in  this  way  the  female  portion  of  the  neighbor- 
hood gradually  consigned  Phoebe's  memory  to  oblivion, 
and  subjected  her  parents  and  child  to  social  ostracism. 
Therefore  the  new  Phoebe,  a  blue-eyed,  brown-haired 
creature,  with  her  mother's  beauty  and  her  father's 
fairness,  was  permitted,  like  some  undiscovered  flower, 
to  grow  up  in  isolation,  with  only  the  companionship 
of  her  grandparents  and  the  faithful  negroes,  whose 
loyalty  never  faltered  and  whose  affection  never  waned. 

Fate,  as  I  before  observed,  decreed  she  should  live, 
and  in  time  both  Phineas  and  Rachel  took  to  their  old 


226  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

hearts,  with  all  the  tenderness  and  solicitude  the  indul- 
gent aged  lavish  upon  the  young,  this  nameless  off- 
spring of  unconsecrated  love. 

In  that  charming  scene  vi^here  we  first  met  her  beau- 
tiful mother,  watched  by  loving  eyes  and  led  with  ten- 
der hands,  the  fairy  idol  of  the  blacks,  and  the  sole 
thought  of  her  grandparents,  we  will,  for  the  present 
leave  her,  and  journey  again  to  the  bedside  of  the  hero 
of  my  tale,  whom  we  left,  two  chapters  back,  wearily 
wondering,  and  trying  to  conceive  the  circumstances 
which  brought  Phineas  Strong  to  Lancaster. 


CHICKENS   COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  237 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

Josephine  Bowers  returned  with  a  tray,  on  which 
smoked  a  cup  of  fragrant  tea,  an  egg,  which  diffused 
that  delicate  and  peculiar  flavor  which  only  an  egg, 
unhampered  with  the  toil  of  migration,  is  sure  to  emit. 
There  was  also  some  brown  toast,  some  yellow  butter, 
and  some  quince  jelly,  which  looked  very  much  like  the 
quince  jelly  Aunt  Rachel  and  Phcebe  made  at  River 
View.  Pursuant  to  directions,  in  the  jelly  Mrs. 
Bowers  had  injected  an  opiate,  and  Robbie,  who  had 
but  just  awoke,  as  it  were,  no  sooner  completed  the  eat- 
ing of  the  repast  than  he  lapsed  into  a  gentle,  appar- 
ently a  natural  sleep,  and  his  faithful  nurse  watched 
the  color  of  life  come  back  again  to  his  pale  face. 

While  it  is  true  Robbie  had  not,  in  four  days,  opened 
his  eyes,  and  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  dead,  he 
had  not  in  reality  slept.  The  nap  he  was  now  taking 
was,  therefore,  the  first  natural  one  since  the  accident. 
It  was  not  surprising  then  that  the  effect  of  the  opiate 
lasted  a  long  while.  Indeed  it  was  near  the  close  of 
the  following  day  when  he  again  opened  his  eyes. 

As  they  soon  fell  upon  those  of  Josephine  Bowers, 
who  was  gazing  into  his  face  with  a  solicitous  fondness, 
he  was  still  ignorant  of  the  lapse  of  time.  The  fact 
that  she  was  there,  lent  probability  to  the  thought  that 


228  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

he  just  awoke  from  a  short  nap.  His  sensations,  how- 
ever, were  completely  changed.  Much  of  the  pain  from 
his  head  and  hack  and  limbs  had  gone;  his  mind  was 
clearer,  his  eyes  felt  brighter,  and  he  could  talk  with 
ease. 

In  Josephine  Bowers  he  noticed  a  great  change. 
Her  former  tear-stained  face  was  now  almost  radiant; 
her  gray  eyes  shone  with  a  light  he  had  never  before 
observed — a  soft  glow,  expressing  warmth  and  tender- 
ness. Her  gown,  too,  was  different.  She  had  changed 
it  while  he  slept.  It  was  now  a  rather  gay-colored 
material,  close  fitting  about  the  waist,  and  fastened  at 
the  neck  with  a  gold  clasp,  made  in  the  design  of  a 
heart.  In  its  center  shone  a  diamond.  It  was  very 
pretty  and  very  odd.  Robbie  had  never  seen  it  before. 
On  a  table,  in  a  large  vase,  was  a  bouquet  of  fresh  cut 
flowers,  roses,  leaves,  and  graceful  grasses.  The  fra- 
grance they  exhaled  were  wafted  toward  him  by  the 
motion  of  a  fan  the  lady  waved  gently  in  her  jeweled 
hand. 

The  soft  light  of  the  room,  the  perfumed  gown  she 
wore,  the  sweet  flowers,  the  immaculate  counterpane, 
his  own  spotless  linen,  the  neatness,  suggesting  the 
most  ardent  attention  to  detail,  produced  an  effect  upon 
Robbie  more  delicious  than  he  had  ever  known.  It 
all  seemed  like  a  dream.  Lost  in  the  contemplation 
and  quiet  enjoyment  of  this  scene,  his  reveries  were 
continued  for  several  moments. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Robbie?"  spoke 
Josephine  Bowers,  in  a  voice  low  and  sweet,  bending 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  229 

over  and  pushing  a  stray  curl  back  from  his  forehead. 
He  had  never  heard  her  speak  like  that  before ;  she 
never  before  called  him  "Robbie."  Her  voice,  full  of 
tenderness,  had  a  charm  he  never  before  observed. 
Slowly  he  turned  his  eyes  and  said: 

"Tell  me  everything!" 

"Perhaps,"  she  replied,  "you  could  eat  something 
now?" 

"Why,  I  just  ate!" 

"That  was  yesterday." 

"Yesterday?" 

"Yes!" 

He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  then  asked : 

"How  long  have  I  Iain  here?" 

"Four  days." 

"And  you  say  Uncle  Phineas  was  here?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  he  here  now?" 

"No." 

"And  where  is  the  judge?" 

"Now,"  she  said,  "the  doctor  says  you  must  not 
talk.  I  will  leave  Zeb  to  wait  on  you  for  a  few 
moments  while  I  prepare  you  something  to  eat.  Then^ 
if  you  go  to  sleep,  why,  to-morrow,  I'll  tell  you  every- 
thing.    Kemember,  you  must  not  talk." 

Zeb  White  was  a  black  man  who  had  been  a  servant 
to  Judge  Bowers  for  thirty  years.  He  loved  the  judge, 
and  loved  Robbie  Porter.  He  had  asked  to  be  allowed 
to  assist  in  the  care  of  the  invalid.  He  w  as  strong, 
faithful,  and  gentle,  a  natural  nurse. 


230  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

**Zeb!"  said  Robbie,  extending  bis  band  so  as  to 
grasp  tbat  of  tbe  black  man,  "where  is  Judge 
Bowers?" 

"Now,  Mister  Robbie,  you  don' ain't  to  know,  'cause, 
you  see,  the  judge  might  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  so,  so 
we  made  it  up  not  to  tell  you." 

"Tell  me,  Zeb?" 

**Can't  doit,  sah." 

"Is  he  hurt?" 

"Can't  say,  sab." 

"But,  Zeb." 

"  'Tain't  no  use  to  'but'  ;  I  done  tole  her  I  wouldn't 
tell,  an'  I  won't." 

"Where's  the  mare,  Zeb?" 

"Dunno." 

"Don't  know?" 

"Look  hy'ar,  Mister  Bob,  you  'scuse  me,  but  'struc- 
tions  is  not  to  let  you  talk.  Ef  you  talk,  I'se  got  to  go 
outer  de  room  and  set  in  de  hall.    Rec'on  I'  11  hab  t'  go. ' ' 

"You  need  not  go.     I  will  stop,"  said  Robbie. 

Mrs.  Bowers  soon  appeared,  and  a  tempting  meal 
-was  placed  before  him.  He  ate  and  slept  again.  The 
next  morning  found  him  so  improved  that  the  doctor 
pronounced  him  doing  nicely  and  predicted  a  rapid  re- 
covery. By  degrees  he  learned  from  Mrs.  Bowers, 
whose  attention  increased  rather  than  diminished,  the 
whole  dreadful  effect  of  the  runaway :  That  his  friend, 
the  judge,  was  hopelessly  insane;  that  Dew}^  Iris  had 
been  taken  home  by  Joe  Quirrell;  that  nobody  had 
been  able  to  drive  her,  and  that  Quirrell  had  sent  nearly 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  231 

every  day  to  inquire  if  Robbie  would  recover.  Mrs. 
Bowers  had  been  appointed  conservator  of  her  hus- 
band's estate,  and  his  own  money  had  been  deposited 
in  the  large  iron  safe  in  the  library.  Of  the  conduct  of 
Phineas  Strong  at  the  race-track  he  had  received  an 
elaborate  account  from  her,  and  a  most  enthusiastic 
one  from  Zeb.  For  some  reason  Eobbie  could  not  yet 
divine,  she  evaded  all  reference  to  Phineas'  visit 
to  the  house,  and  day  by  day  put  off  giving  him  a 
detailed  account  of  his  further  conduct. 

Thus  nearly  four  weeks  went  by,  and  as  each  day 
brought  health  and  strength  to  the  invalid,  so  it  seemed 
to  bring  increased  happiness  to  his  attentive  nurse. 

Neither  the  cares  her  husband's  condition  brought, 
nor  the  thought  of  it  caused  any  sorrow  to  Josephine 
Bowers.  She  grew  more  radiant,  more  gracious  each 
day.  Everybody  noticed  it,  and  everybody  remarked 
it.  For  the  first  time  in  all  her  life  this  woman  began 
to  anticipate  happiness.  In  her  heart  was  dawning  the 
light  of  a  new  revelation,  a  revelation  which  sooner  or 
later  comes  at  least  once  to  every  human  heart,  and 
until  it  does  come  the  true  functions  of  the  human  heart 
are  never  known. 

She  was  almost  happy.  She  was  on  the  very  thres- 
hold of  the  sole  purpose  of  life.  She  was  soon  to  realize 
the  only  true  compensation  life  gives  to  those  who 
choose  to  endure  its  cares  and  disappointments.  For 
this  new,  changed  condition  of  things,  in  her  religious, 
reverence,  she  mentally  thanked  God, 

In  the  awful  tragedy  of  the  race-track  she  saw  His 


•232  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

"beneficence  exercised  for  her.  In  the  removal  of  her 
aged  husband  she  recognized  the  mercy  of  God,  who 
always  takes  care  of  His  own.  In  the  sudden  departure 
of  Phineas  Strong  she  saw  His  hidden  and  mysterious 
work.  In  the  nursing  of  Robbie  Porter  she  saw  God's 
way  of  winning  his  young  heart. 

*'For,"  she  thought,  "his  gratitude  will  inspire  him 
to  love  me,  and  if  I  can  contrive  in  some  way  to  keep 
him  from  Virginia,  in  a  little  while,  only  a  little  while, 
he  will  understand.  God,  who  has  brought  everything 
about  so  far,  will  show  me  the  way." 

Thus  she  thought,  and  a  way  suggested  itself ;  and 
in  the  prospect  of  completing  this  imaginary  plan  of 
Divinity  for  her  perfect  bliss,  she  grew  happier, 
lighter,  rosier,  and  more  tender.  By  the  time  Robbie 
was  able  to  sit  up  he  had  become  very  fond  of  his  beau- 
tiful nurse.  He  regarded  her  as  the  most  noble,  most 
devoted  woman  he  had  ever  read  about.  Fit,  he 
thought,  to  adorn,  as  the  heroine,  the  pages  of  any 
fiction. 

In  her  eyes  he  saw  nothing  but  tenderness ;  in  her 
face  he  read  no  guile;  and  in  her  soft  voice  heard  only 
the  tones  of  goodness  and  affection.  She  would  read 
to  him  each  day,  and  as  the  shades  of  approaching 
night  gathered  about  his  couch,  until  the  outlines  of 
her  form  and  face  were  hardly  visible,  linger  by  his 
bedside  and  talk  to  him  of  the  glorious  future  that 
awaited  him  in  his  chosen  profession  at  the  bar. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  233 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Nearly  a  month  had  elapsed  since  the  accident, 
and,  apparently,  the  only  unhappy  or  restive  person 
over  the  event  was  Robbie  Porter.  He  was  now  able 
to  sit  up,  and  with  the  aid  of  Zeb  and  a  crutch,  make 
his  way  about  the  room.  His  fractured  ankle  had  not 
entirely  healed.  At  times  his  head  throbbed  and  pained 
till  tears  came  into  his  eyes  and  blinded  his  vision. 
Across  the  small  of  his  back,  where  the  iron  hoof  of 
Fast  Asleep  struck,  there  were  still  dull  aches.  His 
whole  body,  yet  sore,  was  in  many  places  black  and 
blue  with  bruises. 

His  mind,  however,  had  grown  perfectly  clear,  and 
neither  its  qualities  nor  energies  were  impaired.  He 
was,  therefore,  often  occupied  with  thoughts.  Thoughts 
not  entirely  pleasant;  indeed,  rather  bitter.  Notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  he  had  nearly  seven  thousand 
dollars,  all  his  own,  secure  in  the  library  safe;  despite 
the  fact  that  he  was  surrounded  and  attended  by  the  kind- 
est friends  he  had  ever  known ;  that  he  lived  in  a  large 
house,  in  luxury,  whose  mistress  was  his  constant  and 
solicitous  companion;  that  his  health  and  strength  were 
being  rapidly  restored;  that  his  opportunities  for  a 
future  were  now  beyond  his  wildest  dreams,  he  was  not 
happy. 


234  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

He  was  annoyed,  and  his  heart  was  heavy.  The 
memory  of  the  loving  Phoebe  was  always  present.  He 
could  not,  though  he  often  tried,  banish  her  from  his 
mind.  In  his  heart  he  loved  her  in  spite  of  her  silence. 
Now  that  the  purposes  of  his  life  appeared  easy  to  ac- 
complish, he  discovered  that  his  enthusiasm  for  their 
fulfillment  was  waning.  His  great  object  in  being 
somebody  was  to  please  Phoebe,  to  have  her  admire  him, 
to  have  her  be  proud  of  him. 

If  he  was  not  to  have  her,  never  to  see  the  look  of 
admiration  in  her  eye,  never  hear  the  voice  of  praise 
from  her  tongue,  then  he  saw  no  purpose  in  being  either 
great  or  good,  wise  or  wealthy.  Without  the  compan- 
ionship of  the  idol  of  his  heart,  he  felt  that  sooner  or 
later  his  dreams,  like  all  dreams,  would  remain  fig- 
ments of  the  air.  To  him  there  was  no  other,  there 
could  be  no  other  whose  influence  could  so  completely 
kill,  or  thoroughly  revive,  the  ambitious  plans  he  had 
marked  out  for  the  future. 

Day  by  day,  Josephine  Bowers  had  put  off  telling 
him  of  the  interview  she  had  with  Phineas  Strong, 
while  he  lay  unconscious  in  the  presence  of  both.  She 
began,  now,  however,  to  see  that  she  could  not  longer 
refrain  from  disclosing  some  account  of  the  event.  To 
tell  the  truth,  she  was  sure,  would  result  in  Robbie's 
immediate  departure  for  Viriginia.  To  tell  a  lie  might 
result  in  the  same  thing,  and  yet  she  was  confident  that 
Robbie  was  a  lad  of  too  much  spirit  to  intrude  himself 
upon  the  society  of  those  to  whom  his  presence  was  dis- 
tasteful. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  235 

Therefore,  a  lie,  just  a  little  invention,  might  after 
all  keep  him  forever  by  her  side.  She  resolved  to  tell  a 
lie;  to  invent  and  relate  if  necessary  the  very  opposite 
of  what  was  true.     She  would  take  tne  chance. 

There  was  some  excuse  for  Josephine  Bowers.  For 
ten  years  she  had  led  a  barren  life — that  is,  barren  of 
those  sweet  results  which  women  love  to  imagine  are 
the  sure  rewards  for  wifely  constancy,  domestic  devo- 
tion. So  far  her  life  had  been  a  failure.  In  her  heart 
the  responsive  feeling  which  every  wife  should  have 
for  her  husband  was  totally  wanting.  She  respected 
Judge  Bowers,  and  in  public  was  rather  proud  to  be  seen 
in  his  company  as  his  wife.  His  wealth,  his  judicial 
position,  his  probity,  and  his  learning  were  all  calcu- 
lated to  arouse  the  envy  of  her  less  fortunate  friends; 
and  for  years  this  was,  to  her  mind,  ample  compensation 
for  the  sacrifice  of  sentiment.  But  now  this  novelty 
and  charm  had  faded ;  become  insipid,  tasteless.  Social 
obligations  bored,  annoyed  her.  Her  face  was  wreathed 
in  smiles,  but  her  heart  was  covered  with  crape.  To 
her,  long  ago,  had  come  the  conclusion  that  life,  with- 
out love,  was  a  tame,  yet  restless  existence.  The 
human  heart,  lacking  the  other  heart  to  beat  responsive 
to  its  own,  failed  in  its  sweetest  functions,  was  dead  to 
tender  impulses. 

It  has  been  noted  that  the  recent  misfortune  of  being 
the  wife  of  an  insane  husband  was  regarded  by  her  as 
having  been  brought  about  by  the  hand  of  God,  for  her 
especial  benefit.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that  God 
could  just  as  well  have  killed  him  as  driven  him  mad. 


236  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

Inasmuch,  therefore,  as  God  had  helped  her  so  much 
to  attain  the  object  of  her  passion,  surely  He  would  not 
be  displeased  if  she  undertook  now  to  help  herself. 

That  she  should  fall  in  love  with  this  young  and 
brilliant  Virginian,  was,  after  alJ,  rather  to  be  expected. 
He  was  physically  a  handsome  fellow.  His  disposi- 
tion, always  genial,  inspired  the  regard  of  all  who  met 
him.  His  mind,  wonderfully  receptive,  had  become 
stored  with  a  vast  amount  of  knowledge,  and  his  con- 
versation, embellished  with  a  natural  wit  and  seasoned 
with  a  gracious  voice,  made  him  always  entertaining. 
His  generosity,  his  bravery,  were  all  known  and  highly 
praised.  His  position  in  the  heart  of  Judge  Bowers 
was  so  secure  that  it  was  common  talk,  based  upon  the 
judge's  own  remarks,  that  Robbie  Porter  would  inherit 
much  of  his  estate. 

Kind  mothers  and  flattering  girls  lavished  much 
attention  upon  him,  and  he  was  ever  a  welcome  guest 
at  the  homes  of  wealth  and  fashion.  During  his  con- 
valescence, mothers  and  daughters,  with  flowers  or 
delicacies,  called  dailj^  to  inquire  about  him.  The 
whole  town  still  talked  of  his  great  race,  and  his  mirac- 
ulous escape  from  death.  He  was  the  hero  of  every 
girl  who  saw  that  tragic  trotting  heat.  His  noble  act  in 
driving  for  Judge  Bowers,  the  certainty  and  dexterity 
of  his  horsemanship,  made  him  the  idol  of  ten  thou- 
sand loyal  hearts.  He  was  a  winner  all  around ;  his 
name  and  feat  on  every  tongue,  in  every  newspaper. 
His  fortune,  too,  was  made — made  in  a  day. 

In  addition  to  winning  nearly  two  thousand  dollars. 


ir 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  237 

Judge  Bowers  had  given  him  five  thousand,  and  had 
said  to  several  before  the  tragedy  that  he  was  going 
to  divide  the  whole  sum  received  for  Dewy  Iris  with 
the  wonderful  driver. 

So,  to  the  world,  Robbie  was  an  object  of  homage,  of 
pride,  of  envy.  When  we  consider  all  these  things, 
when  we  consider  the  now  peculiar  position  of  Jose- 
phine Bowers,  who  had  wormed  from  this  boy  the 
secret  of  his  heart,  do  you  very  much  wonder  she  re- 
solved to  tell  a  lie  or  two  in  order  to  detain  him  near 
her? 

She  loved  him. 

Her  love  blinded  her  sense  of  right,  stilled  her  con- 
science, and  nerved  her  tongue  to  lie.  In  the  name  of 
love,  or  religion,  base  and  noble  things  are  sometimes 
done. 


238  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

A  September  sun  threw  its  morning  rays  across  the 
soft  carpet  in  Robbie's  room.  Its  beams  were  warm 
and  bright,  and  filled  the  place  with  glory.  Robbie 
sat  up  in  bed,  and  Josephine  Bowers  adjusted  an  extra 
pillow  at  his  back. 

She  set  before  him  a  tray  crowded  with  tempting 
food.  Every  viand  had  been  prepared  by  her  own 
hand.  They  were  all  redolent  with  the  delicate  flavor 
of  affection.  The  daintiness  of  the  array  reflected  the 
exhausted  ingenuity  of  love.  A  dying  man,  with  the 
joys  of  heaven  awaiting,  or  the  terrors  of  hell  threaten- 
ing, would  not  have  delayed  to  partake.  The  yellow 
cream,  its  surface  broken  with  the  bubbles  of  richness; 
the  aromatic  flavor,  floating  from  a  silver  urn,  of  choice 
tea;  the  delicate  china  dish,  heaped  with  a  variety  of 
late  raspberiies,  the  pride  of  Judge  Bowers'  horticul- 
tural achievements;  the  toast,  browned  like  a  chestnut 
hull;  the  lumps  of  loaf  sugar  in  a  bowl  of  silver,  lined 
with  gold,  of  filagree  edge  and  chased  exterior;  the 
thin  slices  of  ham,  parboiled  and  broiled,  sprinkled 
with  herbs,  and  flanked  at  either  end  with  an  egg,  big, 
white,  round  and  yellow,  emitting  under  his  nostrils 
the  blended  flavor  of  ham  and  eggs,  and  delighting  his 
artistic  eye  with  the  perfect  symmetry  of  their  arrange- 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  239 

metit  in  an  oval  dish  of  solid  silver;  the  snow-white 
napkin;  the  vase  of  fresh  flov/ers;  the  jeweled  hand  that 
deftly  buttered  the  toast,  that  poured  the  tea,  that 
sugared  the  berries,  and  covered  them  with  cream ;  that 
pushed  aside  his  straying  locks;  the  radiant  face,  often 
so  near  his  own  as  to  nearly  touch  the  down  that  was 
now  of  luxurious  growth;  the  eyes  that  looked  into  his; 
the  voice  that  bade  him  eat;  the  red  lips  so  near;  the 
heaving  bosom,  rising  and  falling  with  the  waves  of 
perfume  that  floated  from  her  person ;  the  muflfled  rus- 
tling of  her  tasteful  gown ;  the  golden  chains  that  jingled 
from  the  bracelets  on  her  arms;  that  beautiful  hair, 
with  its  graceful  roll,  adorned  with  its  tortoise  combs, 
falling  in  a  bunch  of  curls,  oiled,  shining  and  long, 
upon  her  neck  and  back;  the  necklace  at  her  throat, 
with  its  sparkling  diamond  and  its  golden  heart ;  her 
graceful  pose,  and  her  tender  touch,  had  a  wonderfully 
strange  effect  upon  Eobbie.  He  was  not  wholly  aware 
of  it,  but  this  woman  was  daily  creeping  into  his  heart 
and  driving  out  the  image  of  his  beautiful  Phoebe. 

A  repetition  of  the  scene  like  the  foregoing  occurred 
almost  every  morning.  At  each  recurrence  Robbie  be- 
came more  uneasy,  more  embarrassed. 

These  two  were  often  alone,  and  yet  when  alone 
seldom  spoke.  Between  them  a  sense  of  restraint  had 
come. 

Mrs.  Bowers  was  never  happier,  apparently,  than  in 
waiting  upon  her  patient.  She  read  to  him,  and 
brought  him  many  books  he  had  never  seen.  Among 
these  was  an  edition  o±  Byron's  "Don  Juan."     Once  she 


240  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

had  tried  to  discuss  with  him  the  character  of  Julia. 
But  he  was  too  stupid  to  express  any  opinion. 

He  began  gradually  to  understand  this  woman.  He 
began  also  to  realize  that  he  was  living  on  dangerous 
ground.  He  was  natural,  he  was  human,  but  he  had 
to  confess  to  himself  that  his  nurse  was  a  woman  whose 
charms  were  daily  growing.  He  liked  her;  was  grate- 
ful beyond  the  art  of  language  to  express.  He  was 
ashamed  of  his  feelings,  but  he  wanted  to  hug  her 
every  time  she  came  near  him.  He  admitted,  how- 
ever, that  he  did  not,  could  not,  love  her.  His  love 
was  already  fixed.  He  had  given  it  once  and  given  it 
all.  But  the  animal  passion — deny  it  if  you  want  to — 
that  pervades  every  human  frame,  was  not  lacking  in 
our  hero,  and  sooner  or  later  he  felt  he  would  be  false 
to  his  friend,  the  judge,  false  to  Phcebe,  false  to  him- 
self. The  thought  was  a  horrible  one,  because  the 
pride  of  virtue  was  his  dearest  boast.  His  mind  was 
pure,  his  heart  honorable,  but,  yes — but,  temptation! 

Opportunities  were  daily  before  him,  and  daily  he 
strove  to  resist,  to  overcome  their  influence.  His 
nurse,  however,  as  he  regained  health,  grew  more 
ardent,  more  melting.  She  sighed  as  she  stroked  his 
hair,  and  her  hand  trembled  when  she  poured  the  tea. 
He  was  going,  he  felt  it.  She  was  going,  she  knew 
it.  He  strove  to  ward  off  the  danger ;  she  redoubled 
her  arts  to  increase  it.  He  longed  for  strength  to 
leave  the  house;  she  prayed  that  he  might  never  re- 
cover, if  his  recovery  meant  his  departure. 

"You  have  never  told  me  what  Uncle  Phineas  said 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  241 

when  he  was  here.  Tell  me  now, ' '  he  asked,  one  even- 
ing when  they  sat  alone,  and  the  growing  dusk  crept 
upon  the  scene. 

"I  wanted  to  spare  you  additional  pain,"  she  said 
tenderly.     Both  felt  the  influence  of  the  softening  hour. 

She  drew  her  chair  in  front  of  the  big,  easy  one  in 
which  he  reclined,  and  continued,  passing  her  soft  hand 
soothingly  over  his  pale  one,  that  rested  upon  his  knee : 
"Better  not  know  it.  Forget,"  she  went  on,  "you 
ever  knew  the  Strongs,  for " 

"Stop,  please!"  He  raised  his  hands.  "Don't  say 
such  things  to  me.  They  are  the  best  people  that  ever 
lived.  Phoebe  is  the  sweetest  woman  that  I  ever 
knew!" 

That  settled  it  with  Josephine  Bowers.  Her  qualms 
all  fled  at  the  last  remark.  She  spoke,  and  somewhat 
harshly : 

"Oh,  well,  since  you  must  be  satisfied,  I'll  tell  what 
he  said,  and  then  your  eyes  will  be  opened!" 

"Go  on,"  he  said  feebly. 

"Well,  your  good  uncle,  of  course  stopped  the  run- 
away, but  when  the  doctors  told  him  you  would  die, 
he  stood  up,  looked  at  you  a  minute,  and  said  :  'Venge- 
ance is  mine,  I  will  repay,  sayeth  the  Lord !  He  is 
better  dead.  The  girl  he  ruined  is  dead  by  this  time. 
This  is  my  reward  for  loving  an  ingrate!'  " 

Robbie  was  staring  in  speechless  astonishment,  and 
striving  through  the  gloom  to  read  the  woman's  face. 

"Did  he  say  those  things?" 

"Those  were  his  very  Vi^ords." 


243  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

He  covered  his  face  in  his  hands  to  hide  the  pain  his 
heart  reflected  there. 

*'0h,  Mrs.  Bowers,"  he  moaned,  "I  have  lost  the 
best  of  friends;  I  have  ruined  the  most  lovely  of  all 
lovely  characters.  I  am  a  villain,  a  base  wretch,  a 
scoundrel.  No  wonder  he  hates  me  now.  They  all 
hate  me.  I  can  never  go  back,  never  see  her  face 
again." 

For  a  moment  his  emotion  arrested  her  repl3\ 

"I  do  not  hate  you,"  she  said,  leaning  forward,  so 
close  he  felt  her  warm  breath  upon  his  hands.  "To  me 
you  are  not  a  villain,  but  a  splendid,  noble,  young 
man.  Why  mourn  or  lament  the  past?  Have  you 
not  new  and  tried  friends?  Friends  who  overlook, 
forgive  the  past?  Friends  who  nursed  you  back  to 
life,  who  paid  all  your  bills,  who,"  she  faltered,  "who 
can  do  more  for  you,  if  you  will,  than  your  little 
Quaker  sweetheart  and  her  stern  father  could  ever  do. 
Come,"  she  continued,  pushing  his  hands  from  his 
tear-wet  face,  "cheer  up!  We  all  make  mistakes  in 
early  life.  I  have  made  mine,  and  have  suffered.  I 
am  trying  to  forget  the  past ;  have  forgotten  it.  I  am 
looking  to  the  future.  Its  prospects  give  me  present 
happiness.  The  future  is  bright  for  jou.  You  can  be 
every  thing  you  wish.  "Regain  your  health,  complete 
your  studies,  enter  the  profession  of  the  law.  Applause 
will  ring  in  your  ears.  Laurels  will  fall  at  your 
feet.  Love  will  worship  at  your  shrine,  and  wealth 
will  increase  your  power." 

She  was  glowing  now  with  enthusiasm,  and  th© 
radiance  of  her  face  made  a  halo  before  his  own. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  243 

**There  is  no  love  for  me!"  he  answered  sadly. 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is!"  She  began  to  stammer,  hesi- 
tate. Her  eyelids  dropped,  her  color  heightened ;  the 
scene  affected  her.  The  faint  odors  of  the  room,  his 
presence  so  near,  his  grief,  the  glamor  of  a  passion  she 
had  never  before  known,  the  yearnings  for  the  first  time 
of  a  heart  heretofore  a  stranger  to  the  mystic  spell  of 
love,  all  awakened  emotions  the  darkness  did  not  en- 
tirely conceal.  Robbie  was  suddenly  aware  that  a  ter- 
rible struggle  was  raging  in  the  breast  that  heaved 
before  him.  She  was  trying  to  continue,  and  yet  trying 
to  repress  her  speech.  Whether  what  she  wanted  to 
express  came  out  I  do  not  know,  but  her  lips  parted, 
and  in  a  half-stammer,  half-whisper,  he  heard — his 
ears  did  not  deceive  him:     "I — I — love  you!" 

Convulsively  she  had  seized  his  two  hands  and  held 
them  in  her  own. 

The  darkness  fell  upon  them.  The  silence  was  such 
that  each  heard  the  heart  of  the  other.  The  power  of 
speech  and  action  had  left  both.  Robbie  was  not 
wholly  surprised;  he  half -expected  just  such  a  scene  to 
occur.  He  was  gaining  a  little  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Josephine 
Bowers'  conduct  toward  him  was  very  much  the  same 
as  that  of  his  adored  Phoebe. 

He  was  not  wholly  a  stranger  to  sighs,  glances,  and 
the  lingering,  gentle  pressure  of  the  hand.  There  were, 
however,  two  considerations  against  yielding  to  his 
natural  impulses.  He  did  not  try  to  withdraw  his 
hands,  for  if  he  had,  his  arm  would  have  stolen  around 


244  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

her  waist,  and  he  would  have  kissed  her  in  spite  of 
himself.  Memories  of  Phoebe  crowded  rapidly  before 
him,  and  his  respect  for  his  demented  friend  in  a 
padded  cell  at  Norristown  rose  before  him  like  a  wall. 
The  woman  turned  her  face  upward,  and  half-expected 
he  would  kiss  her. 

He  did  not.     He  found  speech. 

His  estimation  of  the  goodness  of  Josephine  Bowers 
was  gone. 

Slowly  he  raised  himself  and  pushed  her  gently  from 
him. 

"Don't!"  he  said  kindly,  "don't  make  me  forget  all 
sense  of  honor.  Don't  talk  to  me  of  love.  Don't  do 
anything  to  make  me  lose  my  good  opinion  of  you. 
Don't  make  me  ashamed  to  meet  my  friend  and  bene- 
factor, your  husband.  Oh,  Mrs.  Bowers,  my  heart  is 
dead,  and  my  hopes  die  with  it.  I  am  all  that  I  said 
and  more.  I  am  an  ungrateful  wretch.  I  wish  I  could 
honorably  take  you  in  my  arms,  for  I  have  long  known 
that  your  married  life  was  barren  of  love.  I  under- 
stand, and  Heaven  knows  I  pity  you.  Your  lot  is  more 
miserable  than  my  own." 

"You  understand?"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  bewildered 
way.  "Then  you  can  sympathize,  and  forgive  my  un- 
womanly actions.  You  know  what  love  is.  I  also 
know  now." 

"Yes!"  he  went  on  slowly.  "I  know  too  well,  but 
Heaven  will  never  bless  yours  or  mine  with  its  smiles. 
Mine  is  already  buried  in  ashes.  I  hope  yours  won't 
end  in  despair." 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  245 

His  words,  his  manner,  had  called  her  back  to  calm- 
ness.    She  was  natural  now,  but  did  not  rise. 

"You  will  forgive  me?"  she  asked.  "Don't  think 
ill  of  me?     We  will  be  friends  always?" 

She  arose,  extended  her  hand.     "Good-night!" 

She  gave  him  an  impulsive  kiss  and  fled. 

She  was  older  in  the  art  of  love  than  Robbie.  Her 
heart  beat  wildly  as  she  sped  along  the  hall  to  her  own 
room. 

"Before  another  month,"  she  said  mentally,  "he  will 
forget  the  name  of  Phoebe  Strong,  and  will  tell  me  so." 

Her  kiss  on  Robbie  Porter's  mouth  had  an  electric 
effect.  It  shattered  his  adamant  resolutions,  and  in- 
stinctively he  stretched  his  arms  to  enclose  her  form. 

His  surprise  made  his  action  slow. 

She  was  gone ! 

He  never  ^saw  her  face  again.  With  her  went  the 
influence  which  she  seemed  exercise  over  him. 

His  feelings  underwent  a  complete  revulsion. 

"This  must  never  occur  again !"  he  thought;  "and 
yet  there  is  no  way  to  prevent  it.  One  more  touch  of 
that  hand,  one  more  kiss,  and  honor  will  fly  out  of  the 
window!" 

It  was  inevitable.  Long  he  thought  of  the  situation, 
and  long  he  planned  a  solution  of  the  difficulty. 

There  was  but  one  way.  He  would  leave  the  house 
forever.  It  was  cowardly  to  run  away,  but  that  was 
the  only  thing  to  do.  He  was  in  no  condition  to  travel, 
still  lame,  still  weak.  He  was  resolved,  however,  to 
go,  and  to  go  that  night.     There  was  but  one   way  to 


246  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

do  this.  That  was  to  take  Zeb  into  his  confidence. 
With  his  help  he  could  reach  the  depot,  take  the  mid- 
night train  for  the  West,  and  in  the  morning  be  him- 
dreds  of  miles  away  from  temptation,  where  new  scenes, 
new  faces,  would,  perhaps,  banish  thoughts  no  longer 
pleasant. 

Zeb  was  hard  to  persuade,  but  a  ten-dollar  bill  won 
him  over.  He  assisted  Robbie  to  dress,  helped  him  to 
the  library,  where,  while  he  went  for  the  horses,  Robbie 
opened  the  iron  safe,  and  took  therefrom  his  package  of 
money.  Drawing  himself  to  the  table,  and  turning  up 
the  gas  light,  he  took  a  pen  and  wrote : 


"Dear  Mrs.  Bowers:  The  scenes  of  to-night  would 
soon  be  repeated.  Your  reputation,  your  peace  of  mind 
will  be  less  disturbed  by  my  absence.  Your  kindness, 
I  know,  is  illy  repaid,  but  some  day,  in  another  way,  I 
may  show  you  how  deeply  sensible  I  am  for  your  devo- 
tion. The  world  will  call  me  what  I  am,  a  fool,  but 
my  conscience  will  not  upbraid  me.  Honor  and  wealth 
are  yours.  I  cannot  deprive  you  of  the  former;  of  the 
latter  I  have  no  need.  My  hope  is  to  escape  the 
memory  of  everything  I  have  ever  known.  With  this 
end  in  view,  I  will  travel.  Be  happy !  Farewell. 
*' Yours,  Robert  Porter." 


He  inclosed  it,  wrote  her  name  on  the  envelope,  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket. 

Zeb  helped  him  to  the  carriage,  and  returned  for  a 
traveling  bag,  into  which  he  had  hastily  thrown  a  fe'W 
clothes. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  247 

There  were  few  Western  travelers  that  evening,  and 
he  secured  sleeping  car  accommodations  to  Chicago. 

"The  end  of  the  line,"  the  ticket  seller  said.  He 
gave  a  ten-dollar  bill  to  Zeb,  placed  the  letter  in  his 
hands,  and  bade  farewell  to  the  city  of  Lancaster. 

How  relieved  he  felt,  as  a  full  sense  of  what  he  had 
done  came  upon  him.  Unexpectedly  to  himself,  in 
spite  of  the  jarring  and  rumbling  under  him,  he  fell 
asleep,  and  did  not  awake  till  the  train  was  well  into 
the  State  of  Ohio. 


248  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

It  was  a  little  late  when  Josephine  Bowers,  arrayed 
the  next  morning  in  one  of  those  fetching  gowns,  smell- 
ing of  the  bath,  and  exhaling  perfume  at  every  step, 
appeared  at  the  breakfast  table.  She  was  radiant  with 
smiles,  and  gracious  beyond  precedent.  She  finished 
the  meal,  when  Zeb,  hat  in  hand,  entered  and  handed 
her  the  letter.  He  was  going  immediately  to  depart, 
but  a  scream  arrested  his  purpose,  and  the  sound  of  a 
falling  body  striking  the  floor  caused  him  to  fly  to  the 
side  of  his  mistress.  The  letter  was  clasped  in  her 
hand.  Zeb  dashed  water  in  her  face,  lifted  her  gently 
to  the  sofa,  and  fanned  her  vigorously  till  her  eyes 
opened. 

"Who  helped  him  from  the  house?"  she  demanded, 
almost  in  a  rage. 

"I  did,"  Zeb  replied. 

"Did  he  say  where  he  was  going?" 

"Everywhere!  Said  he  would  never  stop  travelin' 
as  long  as  he  had  a  cent!" 

A  groan  came  from  the  lips  of  the  unhappy  woman. 

With  a  struggle  she  arose,  steadied  herself  a  moment, 
and  in  a  hoarse-like  voice  said:  "Zeb,  say  nothing  of 
this.     Did  he  take  his  clothes?" 

"Yes,  a  few,  missus." 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  249 

"Pack  the  rest  in  a  box  and  ship  them  to  Phineas 
Strong,  Fredericksburg,  Virginia.  Never  mention  his 
name  again,  Zeb!" 

She  swept  from  the  room.  It  was  days  ere  her  face 
was  seen  again.  Then  few  knew  her.  Prom  her  eyes 
had  gone  their  liquid  tenderness;  color  had  left  her 
f£ice,  and  over  it  had  stolen  an  expression  of  settled 
melancholv — suffering.  She  rarely  spoke;  she  never 
smiled.  She  had  had  her  romance;  she  had  now  to 
bear  her  cross. 

Her  first  day  of  grief  gave  way  to  revenge,  and  she 
wrote  the  cruel  letter  apprising  Phineas  Strong  of  the 
death  of  Robbie  Porter.  After  that  the  terrors  of  re- 
morse haunted  her  mind,  and  clung  to  her  all  the  days 
of  her  life. 

Her  chickens  had  all  come  home  to  roost. 

Robbie  Porter,  still  half-invalid,  but  pleased  at  his 
freedom,  was  more  happy  than  he  had  been  for  many 
days.  Phoebe  was  gone;  of  that  there  could  be  no 
doubt.  She  despised  him,  and  Uncle  Phineas  must 
also  execrate  his  memory.  His  heart  yearned  toward 
them  all.  Had  he  yielded  to  its  promptings,  he  would 
have  been  on  his  way  to  River  View.  But  pride,  that 
stubborn  pride,  which  first  wooed  him  from  that  hos- 
pitable roof,  urged  him  further  away.  So  he  shut  up 
his  breaking  heart,  consigned  the  memory  of  Phoebe  to 
its  innermost  recesses,  swept  his  forehead  with  his 
hand,  and  said:  "I  will  forget  her!" 

Thus  he  resolved,  but  daily  broke  his  resolution  for 
twenty  years. 


250  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

He  awoke  the  next  morning  in  Chicago,  but  its 
smoke,  wooden  houses  and  wooden  sidewalks  had  no 
charms  for  him.  He  did  not  want  to  stop  anywhere. 
To  go,  to  get  away  from  everywhere,  from  everything, 
even  beyond  the  borders  of  civilization,  was  his  hope, 
his  desire.  He  believed  he  could  ride  away  from  his 
own  thoughts,  and  leave  in  its  wake  reflections, 
memories  of  days,  scenes,  places  and  faces  that 
now  were,  he  believed,  doomed  to  utter  oblivion. 

He  was  mistaken,  but  it  took  years  to  make  him  con- 
fess his  error. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST.  251 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

Judge  Bowers  died  in  an  insane  asylum.  His  last 
words  were:  "Put  not  your  trust  in  horses!" 

His  widow  never  remarried.  She  shut  herself  up  in 
the  big  house  her  husband  left  her,  and  in  a  few  years 
became  a  spare,  wrinkled  old  woman. 

Dewy  Iris  trotted  races,  but  never  beat  her  Lancas- 
ter record. 

Robbie  Porter  recovered  entirely  his  pristine  strength 
of  body  and  mind,  and  in  a  few  years,  traveling  from 
place  to  place,  apparently  forgot,  in  the  fascination  of 
that  infinite  variety  the  novice  ever  finds,  the  melan- 
choly incidents  of  his  earlier  life. 

It  is  no  part  of  my  story  to  follow  him  in  all  of  his 
wanderings.  He  was  true  to  his  words  to  Zeb.  He 
stopped  only  when  his  money  was  exhausted.  He  was, 
however,  satisfied.  He  had  seen  most  of  the  world, 
and  returned  at  last  to  his  native  land. 

Now  the  charms  of  travel  were  gone.  A  longing  for 
rest,  and  a  semi-reviving  of  his  earlier  dreams  took 
possession  of  him.  He  would  renew  his  studies,  try  for 
admission  to  the  bar,  and  woo  ambition  to  his  breast. 
During  his  travels  his  taste  for  reading  clung  to  him  as 
of  old,  and  in  three  years  he  had  devoured  a  vast  num- 
ber of  book8  on  all  conceivable  subjects.     His  mind  had 


252  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST, 

broadened,  and  bis  conversational  powers  had  wonder- 
fully enlarged.  He  was  rich  in  reflections,  posted  in 
art,  literature,  and  tbe  ways  of  the  world,  but  totally 
lacking  in  everything  necessary  to  make  a  living.  His 
resolution  to  stop  going  came  to  him  while  crossing  the 
State  of  Iowa.  It  was  in  the  early  autumn,  and  the 
rich  fullness  of  the  country  appealed  to  his  remaining 
notions  of  the  practical. 

He  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  fellow-traveler, 
a  plainly-dressed  man,  with  a  placid  face,  a  soft  vci:e 
and  an  easy  manner.  He  looked  like  a  well-to-do 
farmer  or  stock  raiser.  He  was  both.  His  conversa- 
tion indicated  intelligence,  and  expressed  philosophy. 
Robbie  interested  him,  and  his  stories  of  travel  so  im- 
pressed him  that  he  begged  Robbie  to  honor  him  with 
his  company,  and  quit  the  train  at  the  next  stop,  a  few 
miles  west  of  Burlington.     Robbie  consented. 

The  two  exchanged  confidences,  and  formed  a  friend- 
ship that  continued  for  years.  The  gentleman  chanced 
also  to  be  a  school  director,  and  had  that  day  been  to  a 
distant  town  in  search  of  a  teacher  to  take  tbe  district 
school  for  the  coming  term.  Before  they  had  reached 
his  home,  he  had  offered  Robbie  the  place  at  a  salary  of 
sixty  dollars  a  month,  saying  at  the  same  time:  "You 
can  board  with  me  for  ten  dollars  a  month." 

Here  was  a  chance,  and  Robbie  accepted  on  the  spot. 

Ha  taught  this  school  four  years,  and  his  name  is  no 
doubt  remembered  to  this  day  by  pupils  long  since 
fatl>ers  and  mothers.  His  spare  time  was  devoted  to 
law  books,  and  diligently,  faithfully,  he  employed  it. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  253 

He  moved  into  town,  opened  a  law  olSce,  and  his 
friend,  the  school  director,  gave  him  his  first  case. 

A  law  practice  in  a  country  town,  however,  is  not 
apt  to  afford  as  many  opportunities  for  prominence  and 
wealth  as  a  large  city,  and  his  business  was,  after  all, 
illusive  in  its  promises  and  uncertain  in  its  remunera- 
tive features.  It  had  one  redeeming  quality,  it  in- 
volved nearly  every  variety  of  jurisprudence,  so  that, 
if  the  country  attorney  has  business,  he  is  bound  to 
become  a  better  all-round  lawj^er  than  his  city  brother, 
the  scope  of  whose  practice  is  too  often  limited  to  spe- 
cialties. 

Robbie's  qualities  brought  him  his  share  of  the  litiga- 
tion, and  in  general  the  confidence  and  admiration  of 
many  fi'iends.  He  was  often  successful,  and  frequently 
acquitted  himself  with  distinction.  He  became  known 
as  a  dangerous  adversary  in  a  case,  and  his  services 
were  generally  sought  by  people  whose  chances  of  suc- 
cess were  often  desperate. 

Robbie,  however,  had  never  been  taught,  and  had 
never  formed  strict  business  habits.  He  was  a  trifie 
indifferent,  often  late  in  his  appointments,  frequently 
tardy  to  appear  in  court,  and  in  many  ways  annoying 
to  clients,  whose  nervousness  in  litigation  became  in- 
tensified at  the  calm,  passive,  phlegmatic  way  he  pro- 
ceeded v»"ith  their  affairs,  or  tried  their  cases. 

Then,  too,  if  he  lost  the  suit  his  coolness,  indifference, 
if  you  please,  was  aggravating.  He  simply  said, 
*'Both sides  can't  win,"  and  walked  smiling  and  happy 
from  court. 


254  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

Sometimes,  too,  when  he  had  been  successful,  and 
collected  a  fee,  he  closed  his  ofiSce,  tacked  a  card  on 
the  door,  "Out  of  town,"  and  disappeared  from  view. 
Search  or  inquiry  for  him  were  alike  useless.  No  one 
knew  where  he  had  gone  or  when  he  would  return. 
His  absences  were  generally  determined  by  the  amount 
of  the  fee.  Sometimes  he  was  gone  six  days,  and  some- 
times six  weeks.  He  would  return,  though,  smiling 
and  happy,  and  in  a  few  days  his  genial  ways 
would  draw  around  as  of  yore  his  old  clients,  his  fond 
admirers.  But  his  practice  was  of  a  desultory  char- 
acter, and  he  had  gradually  grown  tired  of  it.  He 
became  less  studious,  and  less  attentive. 

As  a  means  for  a  livelihood  he  was  compelled  to  pur- 
sue his  calling.  His  temporal  wants  supplied,  his  am- 
bition waned,  and  I  verily  believe  had  not  his  necessi- 
ties required  it,  he  would  have  been  content  to  recline 
in  the  shade  of  a  tree,  and  read  and  reread  his  favorite 
authors.  He  was  known  as  the  happiest  fellow  in 
town,  and  his  philosophy  taught  him  the  folly  of  dis- 
content. 

From  religious  gatherings  and  social  functions  he 
had  long  since  withdrawn.  His  sweetest  companions 
were  his  silent  books,  his  faithful  dog,  his  dextrous 
rod,  and  his  unerring  gun. 

In  this  way  ten  years  passed.  He  was  getting  along 
in  life  now,  and  was  little  richer  than  when  he  quit  the 
country  school. 

He  had  longed  to  get  away  from  the  place,  and  had 
for  some  time  been  planning  his  departure. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  255 

In  court  was  pending  a  case  involving  the  title  to 
large  tracts  of  land.  Robbie  was  one  of  several 
counsel  employed.  It  became  necessary  to  take  the 
testimony  of  witnesses  living  in  New  York  City.  He 
made  his  trip,  examined  the  witnesses,  saw  that  the 
commissioner  forwarded  the  depositions,  and  wrote  to 
his  friend  the  school  director  that  he  would  never  re- 
turn. The  testimony  he  elicited  would  win  his  case. 
He  therefore  instructed  his  friend  to  sell  his  effects  and 
forward  the  proceeds  to  New  York.  Six  weeks  among 
the  pleasures  and  palaces  of  the  mighty  metropolis  won 
him  completely.  His  life  in  the  West  he  now  regarded 
as  wasted. 

Under  the  impulse  of  the  busy  scenes  he  daily  wit- 
nessed his  enthusiasm  revived.  He  fondly  imagined 
that  the  great  dreams  of  his  earlier  years  would  here 
be  realized.  There  were  already  six  thousand  other 
lawyers  in  the  city  of  New  York,  and  he  was  a  total 
stranger.  Nevertheless,  he  entered  the  lists,  and  in  a 
few  weeks  a  window  of  a  big  building  on  Broadway 
was  adorned  with  golden  letters  that  read  "Robert  Por- 
ter, Attorney-at-  La  w. " 

His  fee  from  the  West,  with  the  proceeds  of  a  rather 
large  library,  enabled  him  to  furnish  his  present 
offices  with  necessary  and  attractive  appointments. 

The  novelty  in  the  various  attractions  of  metropoli- 
tan life  for  a  year  or  so  afforded  him  delight  and  enter- 
tainment. He  became  a  patron  of  the  theater,  a  buyer 
of  books,  a  lover  of  music,  a  tasteful  and  expensive 
dresser,  and  a  good  liver. 


256  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

One  year,  however,  was  suflBcient  to  exhaust  most  of 
the  chariTi  in  the  life  he  was  leading.  He  grew  tired 
of  the  crowds,  the  never-ending  roar  of  traffic,  the  glare 
of  the  footlights,  and  the  smirking  social  set  in  which 
he  moved. 

He  made  aquaintances,  and  some  business  came  from 
their  associations,  but  old  habits,  long  ago  formed, 
clung  to  him,  and  he  attended  to  the  demands  of  his 
profession  only  when  the  exigencies  of  his  exchequer 
absolutely  required.  The  result  of  his  lax  method 
therefore  soon  brought  him  to  that  financial  condition 
which  one  finds  so  common  among  the  dwellers  in  large 
cities.  The  needs  of  the  present  day  were  sufficient. 
"Take  no  thought  of  the  morrow,"  became  his  philos- 
ophy, and  the  days  and  weeks  glided  away  as  to  him, 
serene  as  an  unruffled  sea.  '' 

To  those  who  claimed  to  know  him  best,  he  seemed 
like  a  man  whose  past  had  no  regrets,  whose  present 
was  entirely  happy,  and  whose  future  was  without  ap- 
prehension. With  him  all  seasons  wera  summer,  and 
every  hut  a  palace;  and  yet  he  was  without  fortune, 
without  position.  He  had  neither  political  purposes 
nor  social  aspirations.  Admittedly  able  in  his  profes- 
sion and  brilliant  in  debate,  he  was  nevertheless  modest 
and  retiring.  He  sought  nothing,  desired  nothing. 
For  him  the  world  had  already  done  all  it  could,  all  he 
demanded.  He  had  seen  its  every  part,  and  enjoyed 
all  its  beauties,  partaken  of  all  its  charms.  He  had  his 
romance,  won  his  lov©  and  lost  it.  His  longing  for 
travel  had  been  gratified,  his  desire  of  fortune  more 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  257 

than  satisfied.  His  ambition,  once  a  wild,  boyish 
dream,  to  be  a  lawyer,  was  achieved.  Even  hia  pas- 
sion for  books  was  beginning  to  wane.  He  had  read  so 
many  now,  and  the  good  ones  were  all  familiar,  the 
necessity  for  rereading  them  no  longer  remained. 

In  the  merciless,  heartless  conditions  of  a  great  city 
his  generosity,  his  charity,  his  good  impulses  were  un- 
impaired. No  man  questionued  his  honor,  and  no 
client  ever  doubted  his  fidelity.  Therefore,  it  was 
nearly  true  that  in  looking  over  the  vista  of  the  passing 
years,  he  might  well  be  content.  All  of  his  purposes 
in  life  had  been  achieved.  He  had  become  an  edu- 
cated, refined  gentleman,  identified  with  the  noblest  of 
all  noble  professions — a  profession  which  involves  the 
collected  wisdom  of  ages,  in  which  the  glory  of  Lycur- 
gus  still  exists,  in  which  the  brilliancy  of  Cicero  is  still 
shining ;  a  profession  in  which  oratory  has  climbed  the 
"imperial  heights,"  and  pathos  has  touched  the  saddest 
chords;  a  profession  which  is  the  avenue  to  the  loftiest 
places  that  man  may  reach  in  kingdom  or  republic. 
CsBsar  was  a  lawyer,  so  was  Lincoln.  Caesar's  star 
still  shines;  Lincoln's  sun  will  never  set. 

If  a  man  in  life  achieves  nothing  else  than  to  become 
an  honored  member  of  a  prof ession  which  has  developed 
more  genius,  more  wit,  more  eloquence,  more  learning, 
more  heroes,  than  all  other  professions  combined,  he 
cannot  pass  away  from  earth  without  sensations  of 
pride,  without  feelings  of  joy.  So  then,  if  our  hero 
was  a  happy  man,  there  were  many  things  to  make  him 
so.     He  had  health,    friends,  could  gratify  his  tem- 


258  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

poral  wants,  and  indulge  in  the  sweet  extravagances 
and  little  luxuries  of  life. 

True,  he  had  to  some  extent  become  a  man  of  the 
world.  He  took  his  pleasures  where  he  found  them,  and 
his  philosophy  afforded  plausible  arguments  for  his 
conduct.  He  mingled  with  the  gay,  and  was  some- 
times the  delightful  companion  of  the  revelers  of  the 
night. 

Indeed,  for  ten  years  now  his  life  had  been  such  that 
he  even  deluded  himself  with  the  reflection  that  he  was 
a  contented  and  a  happy  man. 

He  was  not. 

He  lived  a  lie,  and  by  a  smiling  face  concealed  the 
ashes  of  his  buried  hopes.  He  had  said  nearly  twenty 
years  before  that  he  would  forget  Phoebe  Strong.  It 
was  the  one  thing  in  his  life  he  could  not  do. 

He  failed. 

In  this  failure,  reader,  was  the  secret  of  his  unknown 
position  in  the  world.  This  failure,  of  which  his 
friends  knew  nothing,  was  the  real  reason  he  never 
heard  the  trump  of  fame.  For  fame  without  Phoebe 
was  nothing.  This  failure  was  the  real  reason  that 
wealth  had  no  allurements.  Without  Phoebe,  what 
need  had  he  of  money?  It  was  this  failure  that  warped 
his  industry,  stifled  his  ambition,  paralyzed  his 
energies,  and  made  his  life  like  the  heart  within  him, 
slow,  impassive,  sluggish,  dead  to  opportunities,  un- 
moved by  consequences. 

The  gilded  theater,  the  smiles  of  the  siren,  the  spark- 
ling wine,  the  crowded  street,  the  gay  parks,  the  shin- 


CHICKENS    COME   HOME   TO   ROOST,  259 

ing  sea,  the  silent  woods,  the  rolling  hills,  the  spark- 
ling streams,  the  lonely  bower,  the  early  morn,  the 
dewy  eve,  the  fields  and  flowers  of  summer,  and  the 
ice  and  snow  of  winter,  had  all  been  associated  and 
mixed  in  his  life  of  pleasure.  He  never  indulged  in 
the  diversions  of  either  but  the  face  of  Phoebe  Strong 
came  to  him,  sometimes  with  a  sad,  reproachful  look, 
sometimes  with  the  sweet  smile  of  love  and  the  glow 
of  affection. 

In  the  silence  of  his  chamber,  in  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  he  heard  her  voice.  In  dreams  he  saw  those 
wondrous  eyes,  touched  those  moist  red  lips  with  his 
own,  and  felt  her  warm  white  arms  upon  his  breast, 
around  his  neck.  Heavens !  how  real  were  some  of 
these  dreams !  How  often  would  he  suddenly  awake, 
stretch  forth  his  arms,  murmur,  "Phoebe,  Phoebe!"  and 
when  the  consciousness  that  it  was  all  a  dream  cam© 
fully  upon  him,  that  only  an  impalpable  vision  had 
flitted  near,  express  the  sigh  that  comes  from  aching 
hearts,  and  in  melancholy  mem.ories,  in  a  silence  almost 
oppressive,  strive  again  to  bury  recollections,  which, 
though  hallowed  were  no  longer  sweet. 

Thus  he  lived,  and  yet  he  met  the  morning  sun  with 
a  smiling  face,  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  passed  for 
a  light-hearted,  happy  man.     But  Byron  says: 

*'  They  mourn,  but  smile  at  length,  and  smiling  mourn. 
The  tree  will  wither  long  before  it  fall, 
The  hull  drives  on  though  mast  and  sail  be  torn. 
The  roof -tree  sinks  but  molders  on  the  hall 


260  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

In  massy  hoariness;  the  ruined  wall 

Stands  when  its  wind-worn  battlements  are  gone, 

The  bars  survive  the  captive  they  enthral, 

The  day  drags  through,  though  storms  keep  out  the  sun 

And  thus  the  heart  will  break,  yet  brokenly  live  on." 

He  did  not  care  to  confess  it,  but  these  lines  often 
forced  themselves  upon  him  and  were  mentally  re- 
peated again  and  again. 

He  could  not  live  down  his  early  love,  he  could  not 
forget  the  sweet  face  that  inspired  it.  In  the  fullness 
of  his  physical  power,  in  the  intellectual  scope  of  his 
mental  vigor,  he  knew  the  handicap  that  checked  the 
full  completion  of  his  life's  purposes.  He  knew  now 
the  lasting  influence,  the  priceless  treasure  of  a  first 
love.  In  twenty  years  wandering  the  wide  world  over, 
seeing  daily  now  the  faces  of  ten  thousand  smiling 
maidens,  he  beheld  none  like  the  face  of  Phoebe  Strong. 
Sometimes  he  would  walk  from  Battery  Park  to  Cen- 
tral Park,  along  distance,  reader,  along  that  thorough- 
fare, whose  pavements  daily  re-echo  the  tread  of  a  mil- 
lion hurrying  feet,  whose  dazzling  shops  bewilder  the 
•stranger,  and  whose  tall  buildings,  the  tops  of  which 
are  lost  in  floating  clouds,  reflect  the  daring  genius, 
the  lofty  conceptions  of  ambitious  men. 

What  a  moving  panorama  of  human  faces  Broadway 
always  presents  to  the  student  of  human  nature.  The 
variety  is  infinite,  the  expressions  countless.  All  the 
passions  of  the  human  heart  are  reflected  in  the  smiles 
and  wrinkles  that  pass  constantly  before  your  gaze. 
Hope  is  there,  so  is  despair.     Love  is  there,  so  is  hate. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  261 

There  is  expectancy,  here  realization.  Here  is  for- 
tune, there  is  poverty.  Here  is  the  bounding  spring  of 
youth,  the  halting  steps  of  age.  Here  is  the  Sister  of 
Charity,  and  there  the  courtesan  of  crime;  side  by  side 
they  press  amid  the  struggling  throng.  The  lawyer 
with  his  bag  of  briefs,  the  broker  with  his  bunch  of 
stocks,  the  ragged  urchin,  and  the  little  Lord  Faunt- 
leroys,  the  preacher  and  the  reporter  the  hod  carrier 
and  the  dude,  all  there,  rushing  like  mad,  elbowing, 
pushing  in  a  never-ending  procession. 

Above  Fourteenth  Street  begins  that  brilliant  dis- 
play of  fair  faces,  fine  feathers,  gorgeous  gowns,  and 
the  kaleidoscope  of  changing  colors.  On  warm,  sunny 
days  this  part  of  Broadway  for  a  mile  or  more  is  red- 
olent with  the  rich  aromas  that  exhale  from  the  rust- 
ling silks  of  fashion's  favorites. 

Jewels  sparkle,  bright  eyes  grow  brighter,  animation  is 
in  every  countenance,  broad  ribbons  flutter  in  your  face, 
feathered  plumes,  black  and  white,  red  and  green,  in 
graceful  waves,  in  inextricable  confusion,  dangle  before 
you.  Upon  this  panorama,  in  which  art  and  nature 
exhibited  their  choicest  works,  Robbie  would  often 
gaze,  sometimes  searchingly,  and  mentally  wonder  why 
in  all  that  lovely  collection  of  female  loveliness  he  never 
saw  his  Phoebe's  form  and  face.  He  never  wended  his 
way  through  this  chattering  crowd  but  his  mind,  invol- 
untarily, perhaps,  conjured  up  memories  of  her  good- 
ness, her  beauty.  He  began  at  last  to  believe  that  some 
day,  in  that  moving  mass,  he  would  see  her.  Then  he 
indulged  in  delightful  reveries  over  the  imaginary  meet- 


262  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

ing.  Once  his  thoughts  crystallized  into  verse,  which 
he  wrote  down.  Under  the  caption,  "If  you  should  see 
a  face, ' '  the  following  lines  he  sent  to  a  great  newspa- 
per for  publication.  They  were  never  printed,  but  as 
the}''  express  better  than  I  can  the  secret  longing 
of  their  author's  heart,  I  insert  them  here: 

"  If  within  the  crowd's  mad  throng, 
That  daily  rush  the  streets  along, 
If  among  the  feathered,  gay  dressed  fair, 
You  should  some  day  see  wandering  there. 
The  face,  the  sweet,  sweet  face  of  long  ago, 
Of  one,  the  one,  the  very  one,  whom  you  did  know 
Belonged  to  you.     How  would  your  own  become  aglow, 
With  light  and  love. 
How  quick  the  heart  beat,  as  you  strove. 
Right  there  and  then,  despite  of  chattering  tongue 
And  wondering  men, 
To  reach  her  side, 

And  stop  the  rising  sigh  on  those  sweet  lips, 
By  pressing  fondly  to  your  own, 
And  in  the  waiting  ear. 
With  tender  words,  exclaim : 
At  last!  At  last!  it  is  my  Phoebe  dear!" 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  263 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 

Robbie  was  nearly  forty  now.  He  had  climbed  the 
hill  in  life,  and  was  going  down  the  slope.  In  his  phys- 
ical attractions,  the  manly  vigor  of  youth  still  lin- 
gered. The  glow  of  health  was  in  his  cheeks,  and  his 
eyes  reflected  the  quiet  tenderness  of  a  generous  heart. 
His  face,  always  illumed  with  the  light  of  intelligence, 
was  bright,  kindly,  winning;  nevertheless,  silver 
streaks  were  creeping  among  those  chestnut  locks,  and 
old  Time  was  drawing  a  few  semi -wrinkles  across  that 
broad  and  shining  brow. 

With  the  approach  of  age  came  increased  indiffer- 
ence. Why  not?  He  was  alone  in  the  world.  His 
needs  were  few;  there  was  not  to  his  knowledge  one 
human  being  that  could  claim  him  by  consanguinity  or 
affection.  Most  of  his  past  had  been  forgotten.  He 
forgot  his  mother,  forgot  his  father,  forgot  his  battle 
scenes,  banished  Aunt  Rachel  and  Phineas  Strong  from 
his  mind,  shut  out  the  memory  of  Josephine  Bowers, 
relegated  his  friend,  the  judge,  to  mental  oblivion,  and 
gradully  formed  his  chief  source  of  contentment  in  the 
reflection  that  he  stood  alone  in  the  big  round  world. 

To  his  friends  he  laughingly  sometimes  likened  him- 
self to  a  mule,  for  it  had  neither  pride  of  ancestry  nor 
hope  of  posterity.     It  was  his  boast  that  he  was  just 


264  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

Robert  Porter;  that  he  began  nowhere,  and  would 
eventually  end  at  the  same  place.  His  philosophy  had 
brought  him  to  that  condition  in  which  he  had  no  hope 
of  heaven  and  no  fear  of  hell.  Whether  there  was  or 
was  not  a  God  no  longer  disturbed  the  serenity  of  his 
mind.  Earth  might  again  run  red  with  war,  and  revo- 
lutions might  have  crumbled  the  political  fabric  of 
his  country  to  dust,  he  would  have  sat,  calm,  serene, 
unmoved  amid  the  slaughter  and  the  wreck.  Whether 
man  lived  after  he  died  or  died  eternally  after  he  lived 
had  long  since  ceased  to  awaken  thought  or  inspire  con- 
versation. 

For  the  science  of  the  law  he  had  still  some  venera- 
tion, but  he  was  beginning  to  doubt  even  the  utility  of 
this  complex  and  uncertain  system.  He  saw  too  often 
it  was  the  creature  of  wealth,  and  the  instrument  of 
power.  Left  to  his  own  impulses,  he  would  have  re- 
tired from  its  practice,  and  without  a  dollar  returned  to 
those  delicious  and  fragrant  scenes  of  his  Virginia 
home,  where  he  thought  the  music  of  the  rippling 
river  would  lull  him  to  repose,  and  the  songs  of  birds 
would  awaken  him  to  innocent  harmony.  There  he 
could  behold,  with  never-tiring  pleasure,  the  green 
hills  rolling  in  the  distance,  and  the  tall  pines  that 
gracefully  grew  upon  their  verdant  sides.  "There," 
he  thought,  "the  clang  of  commerce  will  never  mar  my 
repose,  and  the  roar  of  traffic  will  never  disturb 
my  reveries!" 

On  the  30th  of  April,  1890,  a  little  after  the  noon 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  2G5 

hour,  Robbie  Porter  stood  in  the  rotunda  of  the  Aster 
House.  He  had  just  lunched,  and  was  proceeding  to 
the  street,  when  the  knowledge  that  a  sudden  shower 
was  falling  arrested  his  attention.  His  office  was  but 
a  little  way  up  Broadway,  and  he  might  have,  by  hur- 
rying, arrived  there  without  much  damage  to  his  ward- 
robe. But  Robbie  never  hurried,  and  it  was  the  most 
unlikely  thing  that  he  should  hurry  in  a  rainstorm. 
So  he  stood  near  the  double  doors  and  peered  through 
their  swinging  glasses  upon  the  dripping  crowd  that 
rushed  in  groups  up  and  down  the  street. 

He  picked  his  teeth  with  calmness  and  content.  His 
florid  face,  and  rounded  vest  suggested  health,  and  re- 
flected plenty.  His  dress,  new,  modern,  perfect  fitting, 
fastidious,  bespoke  the  man  of  taste.  In  his  immacu- 
late, polished  linen,  his  modest  neckwear,  his  closely 
cropped  hair,  and  clean-shaven  face,  neatness  was  com- 
pletely expressed.  His  silk  hat  was  of  the  latest  pat- 
tern, and  shone  in  its  new  polish,  despite  the  cloudy 
day.  His  patent  leather  shoes,  devoid  of  cracks,  dust 
or  dirt,  reflected  their  brilliancy  around  the  wet^  and 
muddy  floor. 

It  had  long  been  his  custom  to  dine  at  this  still 
famous  hotel.  Here  he  often  met  Western  friends,  and 
in  the  glories  of  a  "mint  smash"  or  a  gentle  "toddy," 
recalled  the  scenes  of  other  days.  He  saw  no  friends 
this  day,  however,  and  waiting  patiently  for  an  abate- 
ment of  the  rain,  lost  himself  in  reverie.  The  swing- 
ing doors  swung  unnoticed,  and  the  coming  and  going 
forms  no  longer  attracted  his  attention. 


266  CHICKENS   COME   HOME  TO   ROOST. 

A  familiar  slap  on  the  shoulder  and  a  merry  voice 
aroused  him.  A  tall  gentleman  had  approached,  and 
in  enthusiastic  words  was  saying : 

"Just  the  man,  by  hookey,  that  I  wanted  to  see. 
Been  to  your  oflQce;  been  over  to  Farrishes',  been  every- 
where!    How  are  you,  old  fellow?" 

Robbie  turned  and  recognized  a  newspaper  friend, 
Harry  Cullen,  for  whom  he  had  often  transacted  busi- 
ness in  the  West. 

"Good,"  he  answered.  "Glad  to  see  you,  old  man. 
In  town  long?" 

"Oh,  yes,  been  here  a  year." 

"In  business?" 

"Yes!  Meant  to  hunt  you  up;  somebody  told  me 
you  were  here,  but  busy,  my  boy,  busy.  Will  you  take 
a  case?  I've  got  one  for  you.  You're  the  man  of  all 
others  that  can  handle  it.  By  Jove,  it's  lucky  I  found 
you.     Not  too  busy,  I  hope,  to  take  it,  are  you?" 

"No,"  said  Robbie.  "Pretty  busy,  but  for  a  friend, 
you  know,  guess  I  can  crowd  it  in.  What  is  it,  mur- 
der, arson  or  breach  of  promise?" 

"Breach  of  promise  all  right,  but  not  the  kind  you 
mean.     Married  yet,  old  man?" 

"No!"  answered  Robbie.     "You  are,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  married  long  ago,  got  two  or  three,  yes,  three 
children — 'that's  right;  got  to  buy  shoes  for  the  third  one 
to-day.  Do  you  know,  Bob,  children  always  want 
shoes!  Buy  shoes  for  my  kids  regularly  every  week. 
And  eat!  Mercy  on  me,  old  man!  Never  get  married. 
My  three  young  cues  eat  nine,  yes  nine,  nine  loaves  of 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  267 

bread  every  day  of  their  lives.  But,"  he  rattled  on, 
*'where  can  I  explain  this  case  to  you?" 

"Right  here,"  said  Robbie. 

"No,  come  let's  go  right  across  to  Park  Row.  Got 
my  office  over  there,  and  I'll  explain  it  all.  Introduce 
you  to  your  client,  a  woman!  Oh,  yuu  needn't  hold 
back.     It's  an  old  maid,  gray,  wears  glasses.     Come!" 

"Don't  care  about  getting  my  hat  wet,"  said  Robbie, 
making  no  move  to  go. 

"Oh,  damn  your  hat!"  said  Cullen.  "Get  this  case 
and  buy  a  new  one.  This  is  a  good  case,  old  man. 
Just  like  getting  money  from  home.  Wake  up,  you 
old  fossil,  and  get  a  move  on  you.  I've  got  an  um- 
brella, anyhow." 

He  produced  an  article  made  of  silk,  and  arm  in  arm 
the  two  left  the  hotel. 

Cullen  proceeded  to  tell  that  he  was  in  the  advertising 
business,  and  that  his  partner  was  a  bright  woman, 
named  Miss  Potter,  a  friend  of  his  wife's,  who  formerly 
taught  school  in  Philadelphia. 

To  her  Robbie  was  presently  introduced  in  this 
fashion  by  the  bombastic  Cullen: 

"Now,  Miss  Potter,  this  is  my  friend.  Bob  Porter. 
Best  fellow  that  ever  lived.  Knew  him  in  the  West — 
straight  as  a  string — won't  rob  you.  Good  lawyer! 
Tell  him  all  about  that  case  of  yours.  He'll  handle  it 
just  right,  won't  sell  you  out — fight  for  you  till  the 
cows  come  home  and  then  give  you  all  the  milk.  Treat 
him  as  you  would  a  brother.  Just  sit  right  down, 
Pcb,  and  listen." 


368  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 

Robbie,  smiling,  took  the  offered  chair  by  the  lady's 
side  and  remarked:  "Mr.  Cullen  has  a  brilliant  fancy 
and  is  of  a  romantic  imagination.  Permit  me  to  listen 
to  your  tale  of  woe." 

Miss  Potter  was  a  tall  person,  spare  in  flesh,  neat, 
but  rather  severe  in  costume,  and  on  her  face  time  had 
already  made  some  ravaging  marks.  She  was,  how- 
ever, pleasing  in  her  manner,  and  cordial  in  her  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  introduction. 

"It  is  just  like  this,  Mr.  Porter.  Mr.  Cullen  has 
told  you,  no  doubt,  we  are  in  the  advertising  business. 
Well,  sometimes  I  go  out  and  make  advertising  con- 
tracts. One  of  my  customers,  a  millinery  firm  up 
Broadway,  very  heavy  importers,  with  customers  all 
ovar  the  countrj',  wanted  an  elaborate  description  of 
their  spring  styles  published  in  a  few  of  the  daily  papers, 
exclusively  as  a  news  article,  that  is,  a  'write-up,'  you 
understand.  Well,  we  solicited  and  secured  the  con- 
tract. I  personally  prepared  the  article.  It  was  pub- 
lished in  the  World  and  Herald  last  Sunday  a  week 
ago.  Here  are  the  copies.  The  contract  provided  for 
payment  when  the  work  was  completed.  It  called  for 
four  thousand  lines  of  pure  reading  matter.  There  are 
the  articles.  We  have  presented  the  bill  and  they  have 
refused  payment." 

"Why?"  asked  Robbie. 

She  took  up  one  of  the  papers,  and  pointing  to  the 
bottom  of  a  column  where  the  article  concluded,  showed 
the  letters  "adv."  in  small  characters. 

"And  that  indicates?" 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME  TO   ROOST.  2G9 

"That  is  the  sign  that  the  article  is  a  paid  advertise- 
ment." 

♦♦Well?" 

"They  claim  that  mark  vitiates  their  contract,  and 
injures  the  value  of  the  write-up." 

"Was  the  contract  in  writing?" 

"Certainly." 

"Let  me  see  it." 

She  produced  a  rectangular-shaped  piece  of  paper, 
about  four  inches  wide  and  ten  inches  long.  On  one 
side  was  written  and  printed  the  following : 

"New  York,  April  16,  1890. 
"To  Messrs.  Cullen  &  Potter: 

"You  are  hereby  authorized  to  insert  our  advertise- 
ment to  occupy  four  thousand  lines  of  reading  matter, 
two  thousand  lines  to  appear  in  the  edition  of  the  New 
York  World,  of  Sunday,  April  20,  1890,  and  two 
thousand  lines  in  the  edition  of  the  New  York  Herald  of 
Sunday,  April  20,  1890,  for  which  upon  publication 
thereof  we  agree  to  pay  to  you  or  your  order  four 
thousand  dollars  ($4,000). 

"Bloom  &  Bloom, 
"687  Broadway, 

"New  York." 

"Make  out  your  bill  and  write  me  an  order  that  I 
am  your  agent,  authorized  to  collect  this  account,"  said 
Robbie. 

"Can  you  make  them  pay?"  she  queried  doubtingly. 

"They  will  pay  it  before  the  sun  sets!"  he  said 
quietly. 


270  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  broke  out  Cullen,  coming 
over  to  where  they  sat.  *' There's  a  man  that  knows 
his  business.  Give  him  the  account.  You'll  just  chew 
them  fellows  up,  won't  you,  Bob?  Damn  people, 
always  trying  to  get  out  of  their  contracts.  I'll  tell 
you  what  we'll  do.  Bob,  collect  that  account  and  we'll 
give  you  a  fourth  of  it." 

"All  right!"  said  Eobbie,  folding  up  the  two  papers, 
the  contract  and  bill  together.  "You  wait  here,  and 
I'll  either  bring  you  this  money  before  four  o'clock  or 
those  merchants  will  get  some  advertising  in  the  courts 
that  won't  help  their  credit." 

"Good  boy!"  exclaimed  Cullen,  taking  a  Highland 
fling  step  or  tvv'o.  "Good  boy.  Bob!  Oh,  he's  all 
right.  Potter,  don't  you  worry,"  he  went  on  as  Eobbie 
departed. 

In  two  hours  he  returned  and  handed  to  Miss  Potter 
a  check  for  four  thousand  dollars. 

"By  gad!"  said  Cullen,  "I  didn't  think  it  could  be 
done.     "What'd  you  do  to  make  them?" 

"Oh,  just  gave  them  a  little  talk,  a  little  law,  a  little 
common  sense,  and  they  wilted.'* 

"Well  done,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Potter.  "The  way 
they  talked  to  me  and  Mr.  Cullen  made  us  think  we'd 
have  a  long  fight  to  get  that  money." 

"Oh,  Bob's  the  best  that  ever  came  over.  Can't  get 
away  from  you,  can  they,  old  man?  Draw  a  check  for 
one  thousand  dollars  to  the  order  of  Robert  Porter,"  he 
went  on,  addressing  a  clerk.  "There!"  afiSxing  bis 
signature  to  the  check,    and  handing  it  to  Eobbie. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  271 

"There,  old  boy,  that  will  be  good  when  the  bank  opens 
in  the  morning,  just  as  soon  as  we  make  a  deposit. 
Gad,  old  fellow,  if  the  firm  had  lost  that  account  it 
would  have  had  to  go  out  of  business." 

"Glad  you're  pleased,"  said  Robbie. 

"Pleased;  why  we're  delighted.  Don't  go.  Miss 
Potter  has  a  case  she  wants  to  talk  to  you  about;  ten 
thousand  in  it,  maybe." 

"If  I  could  have  a  moment's  time  with  you?"  said 
Miss  Potter.  "It's  about  mother's  matter.  Could  you 
come  over  to  our  house  some  evening?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  guess  so,"  said  Robbie,  whose  experi- 
ence with  female  clients  had  made  him  rather  cautious 
about  taking  up  their  battles. 

"Oh,  I'll  pay  you,"  spoke  up  the  lady,  who  imagined 
his  hesitating  manner  was  caused  by  the  suspicion  that 
there  might  be  no  remuneration  in  the  proposed  visit. 
"Can  you  come  soon?" 

"Any  time  you  name." 

"This  evening?" 

"If  you  want  me,  yes." 

"The  sooner,  the  better,  as  the  matter  now  admits  of 
no  delay.  If  you  can  accompany  me,  we  will  go  at 
once.  We  live  in  Jersey  City,  and  it  takes  almost  an 
hour  to  get  to  our  home.  I  will  undertake,  if  you  will 
honor  us  with  your  company,  to  prepare  a  simple  but 
palatable  dinner." 

Sarah  Potter  had  already  formed  a  most  amazing 
opinion  of  the  ability  of  Robbie  Porter,  and  what  was 
surprising  to  herself,  a  most  decided  liking.     Instinct- 


272  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

ively  she  felt  that  she  conld  trust  him,  and  that  of  all 
others,  he  was  the  man  to  whom  her  mother  might  im- 
part all  her  secrets  in  safety. 

A  good  dinner,  or  the  prospect  of  one,  always  ap- 
pealed to  Robbie,  and  he  smilingly  assured  the  lady  he 
was  at  her  service. 

They  left  the  office  together,  and  in  a  few  hours  he 
.was  confronting  memories  that  long  ago  were  dead  and 
buried.  He  was  listening  to  a  story  more  remarkable 
to  his  mind  than  all  the  pages  of  romance  he  had  ever 
read. 

Sarah  Potter  had  presented  him  to  a  woman  who 
must  have  been  long  past  seventy.  She  was  tall,  spare, 
wrinkled.  Her  cheeks  were  hollow,  her  big  black  eyes 
were  sunk  behind  eyebrows  whose  ghastly  whiteness 
gave  them  a  weird,  unnatural  look.  Her  hair,  still 
abundant,  was  of  the  color  of  snow.  Her  voice,  once 
perhaps  sweet  and  low,  was  now  a  harsh,  unnatural 
whisper.  Her  features,  however,  were  regular  and 
striking.  The  large  eyes,  the  classic  forehead,  and 
finely  turned  chin,  adorned  as  they  once  were  with  the 
animation  of  youth,  the  color  of  health,  must  have 
made  her  a  wonderfully  beautiful  woman.  But  now, 
her  wasted  form,  her  thin  hands,  the  deathlike  pallor 
of  her  face,  and  an  expression  of  half-terror,  all  sorrow, 
robbed  her  of  nearly  every  charm.  There  are  old 
faces,  still  beautiful,  peaceful,  happy,  lighted  with 
hope,  beaming  still  with  expectancy.  Such  was  not 
hers.  In  those  eyes  was  no  light  of  hope.  Instead, 
they  seemed  to  reflect   the  gloom  of  despair.     Hers 


CHICKENS  COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  273 

was  a  face  over  which  once  the  hot  passions  of  the 
human  heart  had  raged,  and  left  it  seared,  seamed 
and  broken.  Only  tragedy,  deep  grief,  great  sins, 
jealous  rage,  infinite  hate,  blasted  love,  produce  such 
faces.  In  that  face,  Eobbie  read  all  of  these.  In- 
stinctively he  felt  that  he  was  about  to  hear  the  story 
of  a  woman's  life  in  which  all  the  contending  passions 
would  play  a  part.     He  was  not  mistaken. 

The  dinner  concluded,  and  all  being  composed  about 
a  hearthstone  fire,  for  it  was  still  cold  without,  Sarah 
Potter  reminded  her  mother  that  the  lawyer  had  come 
to  hear  her  story  and  take  her  case.  She  went  on  to 
say:  ''Mother  is  almost  blind,  but  I  am  sure  if  she 
could  see  your  face  fully  she  would  not  hesitate.  The 
matter  would  have  long  ago  been  attended  to,  but  until 
this  very  day  we  have  never  felt  that  we  could  afford 
even  the  expense  of  investigation." 

The  old  woman's  first  whispering  took  Robbie  Porter 
off  his  feet,  and  he  betrayed  an  interest,  an  emotion, 
quite  unusual  for  a  man  who  in  twenty  years  had  never 
experienced  the  sensation  of  surprise. 

"  To  begin  at  the  beginning,  my  maiden  name  was 
Lydia  Langdon.  My  brother  is  the  great  Dr.  Langdon, 
of  Philadelphia.     Perhaps  you  have  heard  of  him?" 

Robbie  assured  her  that  he  once  knew  him  well. 

Then  the  memories  of  the  race-track  accident,  and  all 
of  its  horrible  incidents  flashed  through  his  brain. 
Strange  that  there  should  be  in  Jersey  City  the  agency 
in  an  old  and  ghostly  woman  to  remind  him  of  that 
melancholy  scene. 


274  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

She  continued:  "My  conduct  in  early  life  estranged 
him,  and  we  have  not  spoken  in  forty  years.  At  six- 
teen I  was  an  orphan.  A  distant  relative  offered  me  a 
home  in  Philadelphia.  I  became  a  member  of  the 
family,  half-servant,  half-companion,  nurse  girl,  and 
seamstress.  My  relative,  the  husband,  and  head  of  the 
family,  was  a  man  nearly  forty,  tall,  well-formed,  hand- 
some, generous.  He  treated  me  with  tender  and 
fatherly  consideration.  His  wife  and  four  sons  com- 
posed the  family.  They  were  well-to-do,  and  lived  in 
elegance  and  plenty.  In  religion  they  were  Quakers. 
I  had  also  been  bred  a  Quakeress,  so  that  I  soon  fell 
into  their  ways,  and  became  a  general  favorite.  Since 
the  birth  of  their  fourth  son,  the  wife  had  been  a  victim 
of  ill-health,  and  was  frequently  ordered  to  the  country 
or  the  seaside.  During  one  of  these  visits  my  patron 
made  love  to  me.  He  was  very  handsome,  and  I 
was  very  young,  very  silly.  I  fell  madly  in  love,  and  in 
a  year  gave  birth  to  a  child.  His  wife  was  at  home,  ill 
in  bed,  at  the  time.  A  realization  of  my  shame,  and  a 
sense  of  the  impending  scandal,  prompted  me  to  attempt 
some  plan  to  conceal  disgrace,  and  protect  him.  I  took 
my  baby  to  the  attic,  where  I  knew  was  an  old,  small, 
empty  hair-trunk.  I  put  the  little  thing  inside — a  little 
girl — oh,  so  beautiful ! — sprang  the  lock,  and  fled. 

I  reached  my  room,  with  its  cries  ringing  in  my  ears. 

That  was  fifty  years  ago,  but  I  have  heard  that  crj'' 
every  night  since.  Overcome  with  nervousness  and 
weak  with  excitement,  I  fainted.  How  long  I  re- 
mained unconscious  I  do  not  know,  but  when  my  senses 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  275 

came  back,  I  was  lying  on  the  bed,  and  Phineas  Strong 
was  chafing  my  temples  and  rubbing  my  hands." 

Robbie  Porter  was  on  his  feet.  He  was  staring  at 
the  old  woman  speechless,  dumb. 

"Pshaw!"  he  said  to  himself,  sitting  down. 

"Pardon  me,  but  my  thoughts  were  far  away." 
And  then  as  if  to  reassure  himself  he  asked : 

"Whom  did  you  say,  please?" 

"Phineas  Strong,"  whispered  the  dry  lips. 

"Phineas  Strong?" 

She  nodded  her  head  affirmatively. 

"Did  you  ever  know  him?"  / 

"Yes,  I  knew  him  well.     Go  on,  please." 

"I  told  him  what  I  had  done.  He  was  horrified. 
We  both  listened  at  the  foot  of  the  attic  stairs,  but  the 
silence  was  unbroken.  The  little  thing  was  smothered. 
It  was  now  quite  late  and  dark.  I  begged  him  to  carry 
the  trunk  into  the  backyard,  and  bury  it.  He  did  it. 
He  had  just  completed  the  task,  and  looked  up.  His 
wife  had  been  watching  him,  and  was  standing  by  his 
side. 

"Well,  she  found  it  all  out.  He  told  her  everything. 
She  forgave  him  on  the  condition  that  I  should  leave 
the  house  forever.  I  never  saw  his  face  again,  but  I 
would  know  it  even  now.  She  came  to  my  room  and 
told  me  I  was  an  adulteress,  a  murderess.  She  said 
that  I  had  robbed  her  of  her  husband,  and  as  soon  as 
morning  came  she  would  give  me  up  to  justice. 

"There  was  only  one  thing  that  would  save  me — that 
was  to  disappear  forever.     I  begged  the  woman  I  had 


276  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

wronged  to  spare  my  life.  I  waited  not  till  morning, 
but  when  the  house  was  quiet,  arose,  dressed,  and  God 
knows  how  I  ever  did  it,  fairly  flew  from  the  place.  I 
was  found  unconscious  on  the  street,  and  awoke  in  a 
hospital.  My  baby's  plaintive  cries  still  rang  in  my 
ears.  Fever  followed,  and  for  a  long  while  my  life 
hung  in  the  balance.  I  recovered,  however.  My 
brother  found  me  and  urged  me  to  sue  Phineas  Strong. 
I  refused.  He  took  a  pistol  and  went  to  his  house,  in- 
tending to  kill  him.  The  house  was  closed;  the  fam- 
ily had  disappeared. 

**My  brother  offered  me  a  home  with  him.  That  I 
refused,  and  he  became  angry.  I  have  never  seen  him 
since.     I  remained  at  the  hospital  and  became  a  nurse. 

"In  my  ward  was  a  fair-haired,  handsome  man,  in  the 
last  stages  of  consumption.  I  liked  him  very  much, 
and  he  was  constantly  giving  me  presents  of  money. 
One  day  he  asked  me  to  marry  him.  His  name  was 
William  Porter.  He  was  from  Virginia.  He  had 
killed  his  brother  in  a  duel,  he  said,  and  had  to  leave 
the  country.  He  said  he  owned  a  large  estate,  and 
had  no  living  relative.  If  I  would  marry  him,  he 
would  will  his  property  to  me. 

"We  were  quietly  married.  At  this  time,  though  I 
did  not  know  it,  he  was  under  contract  to  sell  his  prop- 
erty in  Virginia.  He  went  out  one  day,  was  seized 
with  a  hemorrhage,  and  bled  to  death  before  he  could 
reach  the  hospital.  On  his  person  was  found  in  bank 
bilis  nearly  five  thousand  dollars.  I  did  not  know  it 
then,  but  found  out  that  on  that  very  day  he  had  given 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  277 

a  deed  for  all  his  earthly  possessions.  I  have  since 
learned  that  the  deed  was  not  good  without  my  signa- 
ture, that  I  still  have  an  interest  in  his  estate.  Is  that 
true?" 

"Perhaps,"  replied  Robbie.     "Is  that  all?" 

Inwardly  he  felt  that  she  had  withheld  some  part  of 
her  story," 

"No;  but  is  not  that  enough?" 

"Yes,  for  the  purposes  you  desire;  but  your  name  is 
Potter  now,  and  you  married  Porter.  Tell  me  about 
that?" 

"With  the  money  my  husband  left  I  decided  to 
travel,  hoping,  if  possible,  to  escape  the  scenes  and 
memory  of  my  awful  crime. 

' '  I  left  the  hospital,  and  with  a  matron  who  had  been 
kind  to  me,  sailed  for  Liverpool. 

"Our  ship  went  into  a  fog  off  the  coast  of  Newfound- 
land, and  we  drifted  upon  the  rocks.  A  young  man 
whose  acquaintance  I  made  the  first  day  out  saved  my 
life.  We  reached  New  Brunswick  together.  He  was  a 
fine-looking,  genial  fellow,  and  had  once  been  a  sailor. 
His  name  was  Benjamin  Potter.  He  expressed  great 
liking  for  mo.  Out  of  gratitude  for  his  goodness,  I 
married  him.  We  lived  in  Nova  Scotia  for  several 
years.  My  daughter  was  born  there.  My  husband 
purchased  an  interest  in  a  coasting  ship,  and  for  two  or 
three  years  fortune  smiled  upon  us.  One  day,  how- 
ever, he  and  a  few  companions,  half -starved,  came 
home  in  a  yawl  boat.  His  vessel  had  been  lost,  with 
cargo,  and  most  of  the  crew.     From  that  day  things 


378  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

went  bad.  Finally  we  drifted  back  to  Philadelphia. 
For  ten  years  we  endured  all  the  pangs  and  privations 
poverty  could  bring.  A  son  was  born  to  us,  and  our 
circumstances  were  such  that  I  had  to  do  nursing  for  a 
living,  while  my  husoand  kept  house  and  attended  the 
children.     Things  went  wrong  always  with  us. 

"  When  the  civil  war  broke  out,  my  husband  and  the 
boy  were  in  Delaware.  He  enlisted  in  a  volunteer  regi- 
ment, and  was  immediately  sent  south.  My  son, 
whom  he  had  started  home,  never  got  there,  and  in  a 
few  weeks  a  letter  from  my  husband  told  me  the 
child  had  followed  him  to  Washington.  My  husband 
knew  all  about  my  marriage  to  Mr.  Porter.  We  both 
thought  if  I  changed  my  name  it  might  injure  my 
chances  of  recovering  his  estate.  So,  after  coming  to 
Philadelphia,  we  used  the  name  of  Porter.  He  en- 
listed under  that  name. 

"After  the  battle  of  Fredericksburg  he  wrote  me  that 
he  was  making  inquiries  about  the  Porter  estate;  to 
send  him  my  marriage  certificate  and  other  papers; 
that  Robbie  was  still  with  him — Robbie  was  the 
child's  name."  The  old  lady  was  about  to  proceed, 
but  stopped  short  upon  dimly  beholding  the  expression 
and  attitude  of  her  guest. 

His  face  was  almost  bloodless;  his  lips  parted,  and 
his  big  round  eyes  fixed  in  a  vacant  stare.  "With  an 
effort  he  arose  and  leaned  against  the  wall,  his  eyes 
still  fastened  upon  the  white-haired  and  shriveled  form 
before  him.  Slowly  he  raised  his  hand,  and  his  voice 
came  husky  and  choking: 


MY  son!     did  you  say  my  son?' 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  279 

*'You — need  go — no  further,"  he  said.  "I  know  the 
rest. ' ' 

"Know  it!"  exclaimed  mother  and  daughter  in  con- 
cert. 

"Yes,"  said  Robbie,  "I  know  it  better  than  you  do. 

"Your  husband  was  the  color  bearer  of  the  regiment. 
He  was  killed  at  Chancel lorsville.  I  saw  him  die;  I 
helped  bury  him ;  I  can  take  you  to  his  grave.  He  was 
buried  on  the  farm  of  Phineas  Strong,  who  bought  it 
from  a  man  named  Porter.  I  am  the  boy  'Eobbie.* 
I  am  your  son." 

Daughter  and  mother  were  on  their  feet.  Surprise, 
doubt,  wonder,  incredulity,  were  in  those  eager  faces. 

"My  son?"  queried  the  mother,  clutching  at  the 
mantel  for  support;  "my  son?     Did  you  say  my  son?" 

"Yes,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it.  Look,  both  of  you, 
look !  Can't  you  see  in  me  the  willful  Robbie  Porter 
who  played  around  the  corner  on  Sansome  Street; 
vv^ho  ran  away  every  day  to  sell  the  Bulletin?  Don't 
you  remember  the  blue  and  red  anchor  my  father  had 
tattooed  on  his  left  arm?  Don't  you  remember  he  wrote 
3^ou  that  I  was  shot  in  the  leg  at  Fredericksburg? 
Don't  you  remember  he  wrote  you  about  Major  Lofland 
being  killed ;  that  his  own  trouser  leg  was  torn  off  by  a 
bursting  shell?" 

"Yes!  yes!"  the  poor  woman  murmured.  "Why, 
I  have  all  the  letters  now. 

"Sarah,"  tottering  toward  her  daughter,  "it  is 
true !  it  is  true !  It  is  your  brother !  The  grave  has 
given  up  its  dead.     Oh,  my  son,  my  son  1     It  seems  so 


280  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

strange,  like  a  dream,  too  good  to  be  true — and  you 
weren't  killed?" 

Robbie  was  deeply  moved.  His  conscience  con- 
demned bim.  He  walked  to  where  the  two  women 
stood,  and  took  them  both  in  his  arms. 

"Motlier,  sister,"  he  said,  "forgive  me!  I  was  a 
wild  boy,  willful,  disobedient,  as  you  know.  I  was 
always  in  trouble  when  at  homo,  always  making  mis- 
chief, and  always  being  whipped  by  you,  but  never  by 
father.     I  was,  therefore,  mostly  with  him. 

**  When  he  enlisted  he  put  me  on  the  boat,  and  told 
me  to  go  home.  He  gave  me  a  letter  for  you.  Before 
the  boat  had  reached  Delaware  River,  I  jumped  over- 
board, swam  ashore,  and  walked  back  to  Wilmington. 
The  regiment  was  gone.  I  carried  a,  valise  for  a  lady, 
who  gave  me  a  quarter.  I  put  a  three-cent  stamp  on 
the  letter,  dropped  it  in  the  post  office,  'flipped'  a 
freight  train,  and  arrived  in  Washington  a  few  hours 
after  pap"  (Robbie  always  referred  to  his  father  as  pap). 
*'At  last  they  gave  me  a  drum,  a  cap,  and  a  pistol. 
A  tailor  in  the  company  made  me  a  suit  of  clothes,  and 
I  followed  the  army  till  pap  was  killed.  He  died 
within  a  mile  of  Phineas  Strong's  house.  His  daugh- 
ter  " 

"His  daughter?"  interrupted  Mrs.  Potter,  looking  up. 

"Yes,  his  daughter,  a  beautiful  young  woman,  found 
us  in  the  big  road.  She  took  us  both  home.  Father 
is  buried  there." 

"Why,"  spoke  up  Sarah,  smiling  through  her  tears, 
*'this  is  like  a  novel;  seems  more  like  fiction  than  fact." 


ClllCrKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  281 

**  'Truth,'  "  said  Robbie,  "  'is  stranger  than  fiction.' 

"Listen:  the  Strongs  were  Quakers.  They  treated 
me  like  I  was  a  human  being.  I  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  remain.  They  consented,  and  I  grew  to  manhood 
there.  I  loved  them,  and  was  engaged  to  marry  the 
daughter,  and " 

"And  what,"  questioned  his  sister,  seeing  that  Rob- 
bie hesitated. 

"Oh,  no  more.  That  is  all.  'Whom  first  we  love  we 
seldom  wed.'  " 

"And  you  didn't  marry  her?"  asked  the  mother. 

"No!" 

"Why,  that  spoils  the  story,"  said  Sarah.  "What 
was  the  trouble?" 

"Oh,"  replied  Robbie,  sighing  deeply,  "that  is  some- 
thing I  never  found  out." 

"But  you  are  married,  of  course,"  said  Sarah. 

"No!" 

*'  Was  it  as  bad  as  that?" 

"It  was  a  sincere  attachment  with  me.  I  would 
marry  her  now  if  I  could." 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  that  is  another  story.     Let's  to  business. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "for  you  are  my  mother." 

He  was  his  old  self  now,  and  smiling. 

"In  fiction,  it  would,  on  an  occasion  of  this  kind,  be 
expected  that  the  long-lost  son,  the  discovered  daugh- 
ter, and  the  new-found  mother  should  fall  into  each 
other's  arms,  and  with  embraces,  kisses,  tears,  make  a 
scene.     I  never  could  affect  a  sentiment  I  did  not  feel. 


283  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

I  have  never  known  a  mother's  love,  a  sister's  care. 
This  seems  so  like  a  dream  to  me,  so  unreal,  so  much 
like  the  invention  of  the  novelist,  that  I  am  even  now 
doubtful  of  its  reality.  However,  I  purpose  to  act 
just  as  though  it  were  true. 

* '  Mother,  jour  life  has  been  full  of  shadows.  Mine 
has  not  been  all  sunshine.  But  from  this  on,  let  not 
your  heart  be  troubled.  As  I  remember  you  thirty 
years  ago,  your  hair  and  eyes  were  black  as  coals.  I 
recall  now  that  settled  look  of  trouble,  but  you  were 
beautiful.  Beauty  may  never  come  back,  but  happi- 
ness will.  Phineas  Strong  and  his  wife  Rachel  are  no 
doubt  dead.  There  is  not  a  living  witness  to  accuse 
you  of  j^our  crime.     Forget  it. 

"Yours  was  the  sin  of  youth;  prompted  by  a  wrong 
social  system,  inspired  by  false  notions.  Sorrow  and 
grief  such  as  yours  would  expiate  a  greater  crime.  Be 
happy!  Smile!  To-morrow  we  will  start  for  Virginia. 
If  you  can  prove  that  you  are  the  wife  of  William 
Porter,  you  can  claim  an  interest  in  River  View." 

"River  View,"  she  repeated.  "That's  the  very  name 
— the  name  my  first  husband  told  me  the  estate  was 
called." 

"Oh,  I  know  it  well,"  said  Robbie.  "There's  not  a 
foot  of  it  I  have  not  stepped  upon.  No  doubt  strangers 
live  there  now,  but  their  title  is  clouded,  and  they  will 
have  to  settle  with  you  if  they  want  it  perfect." 

"But  how  can  I  prove  my  marriage?" 

"Oh,  we'll  find  the  proof.  Get  ready!  We'll  start 
to-morrow  morning.      Leave  at  eleven  o'clock.      We 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  283 

can  be  in  Fredericksburg  by  six,  and  drive  out  to  the 
place  the  next  morning  and  see  who  claincs  to  own  it. 
"We'll  investigate  a  little.  When  I  left  there  twenty 
years  ago  the  place  was  worth  thirty  thousand  dollars. 
It's  probably  worth  fifty  thousand  now.  Can  you 
both  be  at  the  Pennsylvania  depot  to-morrow  at  eleven 
o'clock?" 

"Yes,"  spoke  up  Sarah. 

"All  right,"  said  Robbie.  "I'll  be  there.  lean  get 
away  now.  Later  I  might  not  be  able  to  go.  Of 
course,  if  this  is  a  dream,  and  we  are  all  awake  in  time 
we  won't  go.     It  is  now  late." 

He  took  his  mother's  cold  and  bony  hands  in  his  own, 
stroked  them  and  kissed  her  tenderly.  Sarah  threw 
her  arms  around  him,  exclaiming: 

"Mr.  Cullen  was  right.  You  are  the  best  that  ever 
came  over.     Oh,  we'll  be  proud  of  you." 

He  took  up  his  hat.  Mother  and  daughter  urged  him 
to  remain  overnight. 

"No,  I  couldn't  do  it.  Got  to  arrange  some  things 
to-night  yet,  and  be  up  early.  Don't  fail  to  be  on 
hand.  No  more  sorrow  after  to-morrow.  No  more 
hard  work;  no  more  poverty,  mother!  Good-night, 
good-night,  good-night,"  and  he  was  gone. 


284  CHICKENS   COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 


CHAPTER  L. 

Robbie  reached  the  street,  surging  with  sensations 
better  understood  than  described. 

**Well,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  boarded  a  car  for  the 
ferry,  "I've  read  fiction,  heard  stories,  but  for  a  real 
dream  in  life  this  beats  all!  Wonder  if  I  am  awake. 
Must  be.  This  is  a  street  car — still  I'll  not  believe  it 
till  I  meet  somebody  I  know,  and  ask  them  who  I  am." 

He  reached  the  New  York  shore  and  went  straight 
to  the  Astor  House  bar.  Before  the  crescent-shaped 
counter  three  or  four  men  were  talking.  One  of  them 
was  Harry  Cullen.  His  hat  was  pushed  back,  his 
hands  were  waving,  and  his  tongue  was  telling  the  in- 
cident of  the  Bloom  &  Bloom  contract.  Thrown  over 
his  arm,  and  attached  by  strings  tied  at  the  ends,  hung 
a  pair  of  shoes.  Robbie  walked  up  to  the  crowd,  and 
without  being  observed,  lifted  one  of  the  shoes,  exam- 
ined its  size,  then  spoke : 

"Cullen,  is  that  the  pair  of  shoes  you  were  to  buy  for 
your  child  to-day?" 

"Well,  by  G— d!"  exclaimed  Cullen.  "Why,  gen- 
tlemen, here's  the  man  that  did  the  business."  He 
seized  a  half-filled  glass  of  red  liquor,  resting  on  the 
counter,  raised  it  high  above  his  silk  hat,  and  said : 

"Gentlemen,  drink   to  my  friend,   Robert    Porter. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  285 

Here,  barkeeper,  set  out  that  decanter  and  a  glass. 
Take  something,  Bob.  Why,  man,  you  look  like  you 
have  seen  a  ghost.  What  happened;  old  maid  didn't 
propose  to  you,  did  she?" 

''Gentlemen!"  said  Robbie,  pushing  his  silk  hat 
back,  and  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead, 
"excuse  me,  but  is  this  April  30,  1890?" 

"What's  left  of  it,"  said  Cullen,  glancing  sideways 
at  the  clock  over  the  cashier's  booth. 

Robbie  had  fished  a  piece  of  paper  from  his  vest 
pocket,  and  unfolding  it,  passed  it  before  his  friend's 
eyes.  "Is  that  a  check  for  one  thousand  dollars?" 
"Why,  yes,"  answered  Cullen.  "Look  here,  old 
man,  have  you  come  from  a  dope  factory?" 

"All  right,    then,"    replied   Robbie.     "I'll  drink." 

He  swallowed  half  a  glass  of  whisky,  and  continued, 
"Have  one  on  me!" 

All  drank  again. 

"Cullen,"  went  on  Robbie,  "I  leave  to-morrow  for 
Virginia.  Will  you  meet  me  at  the  bank  at  10:30,  and 
identify  me  so  that  I  can  get  that  check  cashed?" 

"Sure,"  replied  his  friend. 

"Sure?" 

"Bet  on  it!"  answered  Cullen,  slapping  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

"Gentlemen,  good-night!"  said  Robbie,  and  with 
this  remark  he  turned  and  walked  away. 

At  10:30  the  next  day  he  cashed  his  check.  At 
eleven  o'clock  he  was  on  the  train,  seated  with  his 
mother  andsister. 


286  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

It  was  his  intention  ere  he  left  to  have  called  at  his 
office  and  inform  his  clerk  that  he  was  going  away. 
He  arose  late  and  did  not  take  the  time.  His  friend 
Ciillen  volunteered  to  go  there  during  the  day  and  say 
that  Mr.  Porter  wanted  his  mail  sent  to  Fredericks- 
burg, Virginia. 

Without  accident  or  delay  the  little  party  arrived 
about  six  o'clock  in  that  very  hotel  in  which  more  than 
twenty  years  ago  Robbie  Porter  and  Judge  Bowers  had 
dined  together. 

The  past  came  before  him  as  he  stepped  to  the  d«sk 
and  registered : 

"Robert  Porter, 

*'Lydia  Porter, 

"Sarah  Porter, 
"New  York." 

Robbie's  dress  and  liberal  use  of  "tips"  procured  him 
the  attention  of  the  entire  house. 

The  best  rooms  were  at  his  disposal,  and  a  colored 
servant  was  always  at  his  elbow . 

The  day  had  passed  pleasantly,  and  the  cheerfulness 
of  his  conversation  had  a  wonderful  effect  upon  the  two 
women.  They  had  become  bright,  smiling.  Mrs. 
Porter's  gloom  had  almost  gone.  The  wonderful  restor- 
ation of  a  son,  long  since  almost  forgotten,  filled  her 
withered  heart  with  joy.  His  encouraging  assurance 
that  her  crime  was  beyond  the  pale  of  the  laAV  seemed 
to  have  taken  from  her  a  great  weight.  Her  features 
had  relaxed,  her  form  was  more  erect,  and  her  conver- 
sation had  lost  its  melancholy  tone.     It  was  a  joy  to  feel 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  287 

that  at  last,  though  in  the  close  of  life,  a  champion  had 
come  to  console  her  past,  to  cheer  her  present,  and  pro- 
vide for  her  future.  It  was  a  sweet,  delicious  feeling, 
the  first  she  had  known  for  years,  when  she  contem- 
plated this  sturdy,  calm  but  earnest  advocate.  That 
he  was  her  son,  too,  intensified  this  feeling.  To  her  he 
was  already,  though  known  but  a  few  hours,  the  noblest 
man  she  had  ever  met.  She  was  proud  of  his  every 
act  and  word.  His  tenderness,  his  solicitation,  the 
royal  entertainment  he  afforded  on  the  journey,  bespoke 
him  what  he  was,  a  liberal,  big-hearted  gentleman. 

With  a  thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket.  Robbie  ex- 
hibited the  prodigality  of  a  king. 

The  morning  sun  had  not  reached  the  meridian  when 
an  open  carriage,  the  best  in  all  Fredericksburg  that 
could  be  hired,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  horses,  occupied  by 
Robbie  Porter,  his  mother  and  sister,  stopped  just  before 
it  reached  the  old  gate  that  opened  out  upon  the  road 
leading  down  to  the  river  at  River  Yiew. 

When  the  vehicle  stopped  the  stillness  was  almost 
supreme. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  May. 

Every  dogwood  tree  was  white  with  blossoms,  and 
the  soft  zephyr  that  gently  stirred  them  spread  their 
delicate  odors  about  the  scene.  Way  up,  toward  the 
sky,  the  green-topped  pines  swayed  in  splendid  majesty. 
The  warm  sunbeams  penetrated  the  rifts  of  verdant 
foliage,  and  ever  and  anon  the  muffled  sound  of  rip- 
pling water  could  be  heard. 

*'Wait!"  said  Robbie,  addressing  the  driver,  and  pre- 


288  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST. 

paring  to  dismount.  "Wait  here!  Put  up  the  top, 
and  shade  the  ladies.  I  will  go  forward  and  see  who 
now  lives  here.     This  is  the  place,  mother!" 

On  the  way  they  had  met  few  travelers,  and  made 
no  inquiries.  The  driver,  a  young  colored  man,  of 
whom  Robbie  asked  some  questions,  admitted  that  he 
was  a  stranger  "in  deseparts,"  and  did  not  know  who 
lived  there. 

"I'll  find  out  and  come  back  soon,"  he  exclaimed, 
and  proceeded  along  the  road  to  the  big  gate. 

After  his  experience  of  the  preceding  night,  Robbie 
was  prepared,  he  imagined,  for  all  kinds  of  situations. 
Controlling  his  emotions,  and  resolving  to  maintain  a 
quiet,  calm  demeanor,  no  matter  what  revelations  he 
learned,  he  approached  the  familiar  entrance  to  the  lawn. 

Once  or  twice  he  stopped  and  surveyed  the  charming 
scene.  To  his  eye  there  was  no  change  since  he  had 
ridden  away  that  wet  morning  in  November.  Then  he 
feasted  on  hopes.  Now  he  was  returning  to  feed  on 
memories. 

How  familiar  and  how  inviting  everything  about 
him !  There  was  the  same  old  oak,  extending  its  long 
and  tortuous  branches  across  the  road,  over  the  fence, 
so  that  it  shaded  the  green  lawn.  Why,  there,  a  little 
distance  through  the  woods,  was  that  same  pond,  whose 
beautiful  lilies  he  had  so  often  gathered  for  Phoebe. 
Through  spaces  between  the  trees  as  he  passed  along 
he  caught  glimpses  of  the  rolling  river.  There  was 
that  same  little  island,  looking  like  a  green  mound, 
where  he  and  Phoebe  had  so  often  wandered. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  289 

All  the  past  was  coming  back. 

All  the  sweetnesses  of  his  life  in  this  hallowed  spot. 
All  of  the  happy  days,  all  of  the  delicious  nights,  when 
he  sat  on  the  river  bank  and  repeated  to  Phoebe  the 
story  of  Dido,  who  stood  upon  the  sad  seashore  "and 
waved  her  love  to  come  again  to  Carthage. ' '  He  re- 
membered the  goodness  of  Uncle  Phineas,  the  gentle- 
ness, the  patient  kindness  of  Aunt  Rachel.  He  knew 
now,  what  he  didn't  know  then,  how  blessed  he  was. 
He  had  gone  forth  to  battle  with  the  world.  True, 
he  achieved  his  purposes,  yet  he  felt  the  world  had  been 
the  conqueror. 

Was  Phoebe  alive?  Did  she  live  here  now  under 
another  name?  Would  she  know  him?  What  would 
she  say  to  him?  Would  she  charge  him  with  incon- 
stancy? No !  surely  not  that.  Had  he  not  written  and 
rewritten  to  her?  Had  she  not  scorned  his  love  by  a 
silence  more  cruel,  more  crushing  than  open  denun- 
ciation? He  loved  her  then.  He  had  always  loved 
her.  "And  by  heavens!"  he  spoke  aloud,  "I  love  her 
still!" 

He  stopped.  His  hand  was  on  the  old  gate.  He 
looked  along  the  graveled  drive  and  saw  the  white 
walls,  the  tall,  square  pillars  and  the  red  chimneys  of 
the  old  house.  How  beautiful  that  terraced  lawn,  how 
tasteful  the  shrubbery,  how  neat  the  trees !  Why,  the 
old  gate  had  been  just  "whitewashed."  To  Robbie's 
wondering  eyes  everything  looked  very  much  as  it  did 
the  first  day  he  marched,  sore  and  dust  covered,  under 
those  shady  trees. 


290"  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

The  appearance  of  the  place  filled  him  with  more 
concern  than  he  cared  to  confess.  The  hand  of  Phineas 
Strong  was  seen  in  all  its  appointments. 

No  stranger  could  have  in  tree,  in  house,  in  lawn,  in 
neatness  and  taste,  so  completely  reflected  the  char- 
acter and  work  of  his  former  benefactor.  His  hand 
was  on  the  gate  latch,  but  he  hesitated. 

"Nonsense!"  he  finally  muttered  to  himself.  "The 
old  man  must  have  been  dead  these  ten  years.  Why, 
he  would  be  past  ninety  now.  Oh,  no,  Phoebe  may 
live  here,  but  her  father  is  dead." 

He  opened  the  gate  and  entered.  He  now  walked 
more  rapidly  toward  the  house,  stopping  but  once  to 
pluck  a  sweet-smelling  shrub  from  an  overhanging 
bush.  The  nearer  he  drew  to  that  wide  and  inviting 
porch,  with  its  tall  square  pillars,  the  more  evident  be- 
came his  agitation,  and  in  spite  of  himself  his  heart 
began  a  throbbing  that  threatened  displacement.  The 
familiar  distinctness  of  everything  startled,  unnerved 
him.  The  old  walnut  tree,  the  boxwood  bush  at  the 
stone  step  of  the  veranda,  the  iron  mud  scraper,  made 
of  an  old  horseshoe;  the  honeysuckle  vine,  in  full 
bloom,  and  winding  itself  in  rich  luxuriance  around  the 
pillars  and  among  the  lattice  work;  all  there,  just  as 
they  were  twenty-eight  years  ago. 

He  stepped  upon  the  hard  oak  flooring,  spotless  in  its 
smooth  whiteness,  and  made  two  or  three  strides  for  the 
old  doorway.  The  stillness  was  broken  by  a  gentle 
rustling  among  the  stray  branches  of  the  honeysuckle 
vine,  and  Kobbie  turned  to  look  whence  it  came. 


SHE   SPOKE,    AND  THE   VOICE   WAS   THE   VOICE   OF   PHCEBE   STRONG. 


CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  291 

He  was,  he  thought,  prepared  for  surprises,  but  what 
he  now  saw  took  from  him  the  power  of  thought  or 
action.  There,  not  twenty  feet  away,  stood  with  her 
back  toward  him,  evidently  unaware  of  his  presence, 
the  form  of  a  young  woman.  Her  size,  her  shape,  her 
pose,  the  luxuriant  braids  that  hung  down  her  back, 
her  little  feet,  the  hand  with  which  she  turned  a  supple 
branch  between  the  lattices,  her  drab  dress,  everything, 
the  counterpart  of  his  beloved  Phoebe.  For  a  full  min- 
ute he  stood  transfixed.  His  breath  came  hard  and 
fast,  and  finally,  with  a  mighty  effort,  came  back  the 
power  to  move,  to  speak.  With  a  bound  he  was  at  her 
side.  His  silk  hat  fell  upon  the  oaken  floor.  His  arm» 
pg,rted,  and  in  an  instant  the  lovely  form  was  folded  in 
them,  tight  to  his  throbbing  bosom.  One  word,  almost 
shouted,  escaped  his  lips,  "Phoebe!" 

A  scream,  a  wild  cry  of  fright,  resounded  along  the 
porch.  Quick  as  a  flash  the  young  girl  had  broken 
from  that  strong  embrace,  and  darting  to  the  furtherest 
corner  of  the  porch,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  bosom  heav- 
ing, and  her  face  vermilion,  she  stood  in  an  attitude  of 
defiance,  her  expression  mixed  with  wonder,  indigna- 
tion and  pain.  It  was  lucky,  perhaps,  she  had  the 
power  of  speech,  or  heaven  knows  how  long  Robbie 
Porter  would  have  stood  there,  mute,  bewildered.  He 
saw  his  mistake;  the  creature  was  not  Phoebe.  She 
had  blue  eyes,  and  now,  he  could  see,  her  hair  was  not 
black,  but  dark  brown.  She  spoke,  and  the  voice  was 
the  voice  of  Phoebe  Strong. 

"Thou  art  evidently  laboring  under  some  mistake!'* 


292  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

she  said,  her  face  softening  a  little,  and  her  attitude 
assuming  a  less  defiant  position  as  she  saw  the  stranger 
made  no  motion  to  advance. 

Poor  Robbie!  for  once  in  his  life  it  looked  as  though 
all  his  resources  were  about  to  fail.  He  rallied,  how- 
ever, forced  a  smile,  bowed  and  said : 

"I  ask  your  pardon.     I  am  mistaken," 

He  picked  up  his  hat  and  continued,  sadly,  kindly, 
*'Do  I  look  like  a  crazy  man?" 

His  face  betrayed  his  sincerity,  and  his  voice  ap- 
pealed to  her,  touched  her.  There  was  so  much  of 
pathos  in  it.     It  reassured  her,  won  her  sympathy. 

"No;"  she  spoke  frankly,  clearly.  "Thee  looks  like 
a  gentleman  in  the  full  possession  of  his  senses." 

"Thanks.  I  took  you  for  an  old  friend  of  mine.  Of 
course,  now  I  see  my  mistake.  But  your  profile  as  yoii 
appeared  to  me,  was  exactly  as  she  looked  the  first  day 
I  saw  her,  right  about  where  you  were  standing.  Her 
name  was  Phoebe  Strong.  Perhaps  you  are  her  daugh- 
ter?" 

"I  am  her  daughter,"  said  the  young  girl.  She  was 
sad  now. 

"Yes,  I  could  swear  to  that.  But  her  eyes  are  brown. 
Yours  are  patches  of  Italian  skies.  Will  you  permit 
me  to  present  you  my  card?" 

He  handed  her  one  from  his  case.  She  glanced  at  it, 
dropped  it  on  the  floor,  and  darted  away  like  a  fright- 
ened deer.  He  heard  her  feet  in  the  old  hall ;  he  heard 
a  door  open,  and  heard  her  call : 

"Grandfather!  Grandfather!   Grandmother!  Grand- 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  293 

mother !  come  quick,  oh,  come,  come  quick !  everybody 
come !     Robert  Porter  is  on  the  front  porch !" 

He  heard  a  moving  of  chairs,  a  shuffling  of  feet,  and 
presently  in  the  wide,  old  doorway,  his  form  bent,  his 
snow-white  hair  falling  in  thin  locks  over  his  shoulders, 
his  hands  trembling,  clasped  one  over  the  other  over 
the  end  of  a  cane,  on  which  he  leaned  for  support,  he 
beheld  his  old  friend,  Phineas  Strong.  The  slumbering 
affection  of  nearly  thirty  years  awoke  in  his  heart,  and 
became  again  a  living  love.  He  caught  the  tottering,, 
trembling  form  in  his  arms: 

"Oh,  Uncle  Phineas,  doesn't  thee  know  me?  Doesn't 
thee  know  Robbie  Porter?     Look  up!     I  am  Robbie!" 

The  old  man  straightened  his  bent  form,  drew  partly 
away,  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  gazed  a  moment, 
dropped  his  cane;  his  voice  was  almost  choked  with 
emotion  as  he  spoke : 

"The  grave  does  give  up  the  dead.  Yes,  it  is  thee. 
It  is  Robert  Porter.     A  chair,  Phcebe!" 

Gently  Robbie  eased  him  into  it,  stooped,  and  placed 
his  cane  in  his  wrinkled,  withered  hand. 

"Thee  hardly  knows  me,  Robert!"  the  old  man  went 
on.  "My  days  are  nearly  done.  Thee  is  not  dead. 
Did  thee  know  I  tried  to  save  thy  life  twenty  years 
ago  on  the  Lancaster  race  track?" 

"Yes,"  said  Robbie. 

"Thee  didn't  die  of  the  accident?" 

"No.     I  recovered." 

"Why  didn't  thee  come  home?  Didn't  the  woman 
who  waited  on  thee  tell  thee — tell  thee  about  Phoebe?"^ 


294  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

"Thee  means  Josephine  Bowers?" 

"That  was  the  name— did  she  tell  thee?" 

"She  told  me,"  said  Eobbie,  "that  thee  said  thee 
never  wanted  to  see  my  face  again.  That  thee  had 
come  there  for  revenge,  but  that  the  Lord  had  relieved 
thee  of  thy  chance. 

"I  longed  to  come  back.  Had  I  not  met  with 
the  accident  I  should  have  started  that  very  night.  I 
had  written,  and  rewritten  to  Phoebe,  yet  she 
never  replied.  I  was,  however,  bound  to  have  au 
explanation,  but  when  I  heard  what  thee  had  said  I 
thought  it  useless.  I  left  Lancaster  as  soon  as  I  was 
able.     I  have  never  been  to  the  place  since." 

"Thee  tells  straiige  things,  Eobert.  We  got  a  letter 
from  the  woman ;  it's  about  the  house  now,  saying  thee 
had  died  in  a  hospital.  She  sent  thy  clothes,  some 
hooks,  thy  silver  watch,  and  some  other  things.  They 
are  in  thy  old  room  yet,  I  reckon." 

"Did  she  do  that?"  Robbie's  voice  was  cold,  bitter 
now.     A  light  was  coming  to  him. 

Josephine  Bowers  loved  him. 

In  twenty  years  his  knowledge  of  women  had  be- 
come greatly  extended.  He  began  to  understand  some 
things. 

"Tell  me,  Uncle  Phineas,  did—  did  Phoebe  write  to 
me?" 

"More  than  twenty  times,  Robbie.  She  loved  thee 
devotedly.     She  could  not  understand  it." 

"Ob,  Uncle  Phineas!"  cried  Robbie.  "I  see  it  all 
now.      She  did  it — she  stole  the    letters.      She    got 


HE    BEHELD    HIS   OLD    FRIEND    IN    THE   WIDE    DOORWAY. 


CHICKENS   COME  HOME  TO   ROOST.  295 

Phoebe's  when  they  came  to  the  house,  and  never  mailed 
mine  to  Phoebe.  And  to  think  I  trusted  her,  pitied 
her,  thought  her  good.  Fool,  fool,  fool,  ten  thousand 
times  a  fool,  not  to  have  seen  through  her  villainy.  Oh, 
was  ever  heart  so  base,  was  ever  mind  so  malicious? 
Uncle  Phineas,  Phoebe  was  my  idol.  She  is  yet. 
Never,  never,  have  I  seen  a  face  like  hers.  Never  had 
I  love  for  another  woman.  Too  late,  too  late,  too  late. ' ' 
He  almost  sobbed  the  last  sentence.  ' '  But  tell  me, 
where  is  she,  that  I  may  ask  her  forgiveness  for  my 
doubt.  She  is  married;  this  is  her  daughter,"  walking 
toward  the  young  woman  who  stood  speechless  with  as- 
tonishment behind  her  grandfather's  chair. 

"Too  late,  Robert!  Too  late!"  repeated  Phineas 
Strong,  shaking  his  head  slowly.  "Thee  is  too  late. 
Phoebe  is  dead — dead — dead  these  twenty  years." 

"Dead?'  echoed  Robbie.     "Dead,  did  thee  say?" 

"Long  ago,  Robbie.  Her  heart  broke,  when  I  re- 
turned without  thee.  Come  here,  Phoebe,"  reaching 
his  hand  along  the  chair  back  till  it  touched  that  of  the 
young  girl.  "Phoebe,  this  is  thy  father.  This  is  that 
Robert  Porter  who  we  always  told  thee  was  killed  on 
the  race  track.  Robert,  this  is  thy  child,  Phoebe's 
daughter ! 

"This  day  is  full  of  sorrow,  but  I  rejoice  that  I  have 
lived  to  see  it.  Robbie,  I  could  never  believe  thee 
base.  I  see  now  that  my  judgment  of  thee  was  correct. 
Thy  confiding  nature  lost  thee  a  world  of  happiness. 
Mother!"  he  began  calling,  "Rachel!  Phoebe,  where'8 
thy  grandmother?    She  will  weep  with  joy,  Robbie,  for 


296  CHICKENS   COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

she  loved  thee  as  her  own.  For  twenty  years  she  has 
been  thy  defender.  Bring  her,  Phoebe.  I  want  to  see 
her  smile  again  before  I  die." 

Phoebe,  whose  eyes  were  riveted  upon  her  father's 
handsome  form  and  kind  face,  flew  away  in  search  of 
Rachel  Strong. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  297 


CHAPTER  LI. 

Meanwhile  the  ladies  waited  in  the  carriage.  The 
sun's  heat  became  uncomfortably  oppressive.  Thirst, 
curiosity,  finally  nervousness,  at  last  prompted  them  to 
order  the  driver  to  proceed.  The  poor  old  mother  was 
seized  with  fearful  apprehensions.  Trouble  in  her  life 
had  so  often  been  her  portion,  she  looked  for  it  here. 
The  shroud  of  sorrow  had  enveloped  her  whole  life. 
It  was  not  likely  it  would  be  lifted  now. 

The  carriage  halted  under  the  walnut  tree,  not  more 
than  forty  feet  from  the  scene  just  described.  Both 
ladies  alighted. 

It  chanced  at  that  very  moment,  Rachel  Strong,  now 
long  past  her  eightieth  year,  a  large  straw  sun  hat  half 
concealing  her  face,  was  plucking  some  blossoms  from 
a  lilac  tree.  The  spectacle  of  a  carriage,  from  which 
two  strange  ladies  were  just  alighting,  was  sufficient  to 
not  only  arrest  her  attention,  but  fill  her  with  the  live- 
liest emotions  of  wonder  and  concern.  It  was  a  rare 
thing  to  see  visitors  at  River  View  nowadays.  Her 
placid  face,  sweetened  and  softened  by  the  hand  of  time, 
was  full  of  gentle  wonder  as  her  feeble  steps  took  the 
direction  leading  to  the  carriage. 

Having  never  seen  Sarah,  she,  of  course,  did  not 
know  her.     The  memory  of  Lydia  Langdon  was  long 


298  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 

ago  departed,  and  in  the  wrinkled  face,  stooping  form 
and  snow-white  hair  of  the  elder  woman  there  was  not 
a  feature  not  a  vestige  to  remind  her  of  her  once  young 
and  beautiful  rival. 

She,  therefore,  approached  and  addressed  them  pleas- 
antly. 

At  the  sound  of  that  voice  Lydia  Porter  was  seized 
with  a  sudden  weakness  in  all  her  limbs.  She  turned 
and  clutched  at  Sarah  to  support  her  wavering  form. 
One  look  was  sufficient.  Time  had  dealt  gently  with 
Rachel.  Her  eyes  had  not  lost  their  freshness ;  mental 
torment  had  not  soured  her  face.  It  was  the  face  of 
long  ago,  in  a  subdued  coloring,  in  another  frame. 

Face  to  face,  at  last,  after  fifty  years  of  sorrowing 
wonder,  after  half  a  century  of  deep  remorse,  horrible, 
haunting  dreams,  misgivings,  regrets,  two  women, 
each  responsible  for  all  the  grief  and  woe  the  other  had 
known,  gazed  one  upon  the  other. 

In  a  minute,  less  than  a  minute,  Lydia  was  kneeling 
in  the  dust,  clasping  the  knees  of  Rachel  Strong, 

"Oh,  Rachel!  Rachel!  Have  mercy!  don't  tell! 
forgive  me!  forgive  me!  I  wronged  thee,  but  my 
punishment  has  been  great;  my  penitence  sincere." 

Poor,  poor,  frightened  sinner.  The  terror  in  her 
upturned  face,  the  pleading,  hopeless  look  would  have 
touched  a  harder  heart  than  ever  beat  in  Rachel  Strong's 
bosom.  Years  ago  she  had  made  her  peace,  had  for- 
given Lydia,  had  tried  to  think  that  after  all  she  had 
been  harsh  to  the  poor  girl ;  often  regretted,  not  only 
her  awful  scheme  of  vengeance,  but  bitterly  reproached 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  299 

herself  for  allowing  a  helpless  girl  to  go  forth  from  her 
house  alone. 

Sbe  did  not,  at  first,  comprehend  the  sudden  scene  she 
•was  witnessing.  She  had  tried  so  to  forget  that  little 
past  in  her  life.  By  degrees,  however,  her  mental 
faculties  were  aroused.  Sbe  was  conscious  now.  The 
kneeling,  haggard,  haunted  woman  at  her  feet  was 
Lydia  Langdon.  Her  poor  old  hands  reached  down 
and  rested  upon  the  shoulders  of  her  former  rival. 

"Rise,  Lydia.  It  is  thee.  I  see  thee  plain  now» 
Rise  and  let  me  kneel  to  thee  and  beg  forgiveness.  For- 
give me,  Lydia.  My  cruel  revenge  has  cost  me  many 
a  sigh,  and  in  thy  face  I  see  fifty  years  of  sufi^ering.  I 
deceived  thee  with  the  most  heartless  lie  that  was  ever 
uttered.  I  tortured  thee  into  flight.  I  have  prayed 
that  I  might  meet  thee  and  tell  thee,  before  thee  dies, 
thou  art  no  murderess.  I  heard  the  child  cry,  and 
saved  its  life.     Phineas  buried  an  empty  trunk." 

From  the  lips  of  Lydia  Porter  there  escaped  one  long 
cry,  aery  of  joy: 

"Oh,  God!  God!"  she  exclaimed,  looking  with  up- 
lifted hands,  "I  thank  tbee!  I  thank  thee!  My  daugh- 
ter, my  daughter,  my  first-born.  Tell  me  where  she  is, 
lead  me  to  her,  and  I'll  forgive  tbee,  worship  thee! 
Tell  me,  Rachel,  did  she  really  live?" 

"She  lived.  I  raised  her  as  my  own.  But  I  bated 
thee  that  night.  I  feared  to  tell  thee  the  truth,  lest  tbee 
would  not  go.  I  did  not  tell  Phineas  for  days.  I  had 
my  revenge!  but  the  Lord  softened  my  anger,  and 
Phineas  won  back  my  love." 


300  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO  ROOST. 

"But  the  child,  where  is  she;  does  she  know,  does  she 
know  that  thee  is  not  her  real  mother?'' 

"She  knew  nothing.  She  knows  nothing.  She  is 
dead,  Lydia.     Here  comes  Phoebe,  her  daughter. " 

Phoebe  now  came  hurriedly  toward  them,  panting 
with  excitement,  and  exclaiming: 

"Come,  grandmother,  come,  quick!  My  father  is 
alive;  he  is  here;  he  is  on  the  porch  talking  to  grand- 
father.    Oh,  come!" 

"Phoebe!  Phoebe!"  said  Aunt  Eachel,  "is  thee 
crazy?  Doesn't  thee  see  we  have  company?  Thy 
father,  child.     Don't  talk  so!" 

"But  it  is  so.  Grandfather  said  so;  said  the  grave 
had  given  up  the  dead!" 

She  had  seized  her  grandmother's  hands  in  her  ex- 
citing impulsiveness,  and  strove  to  drag  her  toward 
the  house. 

"Come,  do  come!     All  of  you  come." 

Thus  urged  and  entreated,  Phoebe  leading  the  way, 
the  four  ladies  soon  came  upon  the  porch,  face  to  face 
with  Phineas  Strong  and  Kobbie  Porter. 

The  scene  that  immediately  ensued  almost  beggars 
description. 

"Aunt  Rachel,"  exclaimed  Robbie,  springing  for- 
ward and  gathering  her  dear  old  form  in  his  arms. 

"Lydia!"  gasped  Phineas  Strong,  rising,  trembling 
like  a  leaf,  his  eyes  staring  wildly,  his  hand  shading 
them,  and  the  color  fadod  from  his  face. 

"Lvdia,"  be  repeated  slowly,  lowering  his  hand. 
*' Lydia  Langdon.     I  believe  in  the  resurrection!" 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  301 

But  Lydia  Langdon  heard  him  not.  Tb8  suddon 
meaning  of  young  Phoebe's  declaration,  "My  father  is 
here,"  came  to  her.  Film  filled  her  eyes.  Darkness 
fell  around  her ;  her  limbs  grew  rigid,  paralyzed.  Her 
brain  swam,  her  body  surged  to  and  fro,  and  then, 
before  any  one  could  stay  her  form,  she  lunged  for- 
ward, and  fell  upon  her  face  upon  the  hard  oaken 
boards  in  a  dead  faint. 

Introductions  were  overlooked,  formality  ceased. 
Salutations  were  suspended  and  the  whole  house  was 
employed  in  efforts  to  restore  the  poor  woman  to  con- 
sciousness. 

Tenderly  Robbie  took  her  in  his  arms,  gently  he  laid 
her  upon  that  old  sofa  in  the  front  room — the  very  one 
he  had  occe  slept  upon  nearly  thirty  years  ago.  Gradu- 
ally she  revived,  wearily  opened  her  eyes.  Around 
her  stood  Phineas  Strong,  Aunt  Rachel,  and  Robbie. 
She  looked  first  at  one,  and  then  at  the  other.  Eagerly 
she  scanned  each  face  Rachel's  was  the  only  one  that 
answered  her  searching  gaze.     At  last  she  spoke : 

"Phineas,  does  thee  know — know,"  pointing  toward 
Robbie  with  her  bony  fingers,  "this  is  my  son?" 

"There!  there,"  said  Phineas,  whose  greatest  sur- 
prise was  yet  to  come.     "Thee  wanders." 

"No!  no!"  she  replied.  "Would  to  heaven  I  did. 
Tell  him,  Robert." 

The  horrible  revelation  which  had  come  to  Lydia, 
the  shock  of  which  had  deprived  her  of  reason,  was 
still  concealed  from  Robbie  and  Phineas.  Robbie's 
answer,  therefore,  produced  upon  his  old    friend    an 


303  CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST. 

effect  very  near  that  from  which  his  mother  was  just 
recovering.  Confident  that  there  were  no  other  start- 
ling surprises  to  follow,  he  proceeded  to  say: 

"Yes,  Uncle  Phineas,  she  is  my  mother!" 

The  old  man  straightened  his  tall  form,  and  his  face 
assumed  a  horrible,  ghastly  look.  His  lower  jaw 
dropped,  and  for  a  moment  it  looked  as  though  he 
would  sink  to  the  floor. 

*'Thy  mother! — Great  God,  have  I  lived  to  see  this 
day,  to  hear  this  thing,     Robert,  is  this  true?" 

"True,  Uncle  Phineas." 

*'Then,"  he  spoke,  slowly,  sadly,  "Robert,  thou  art 
looking  upon  the  most  miserable  sinner  that  ever  dis- 
graced the  earth.  Ninety  years  have  I  lived,  but  this 
day  have  I  drank  of  the  cup  of  bitterness.  Robbie,  if 
this  is  true,  thou  art  thy  Phoebe's  half-brother,  for  this 
woman  of  a  t^uth  is  her  mother!" 

"Uncle  Phineas!  Uncle  Phineas!  Aunt  Rachel!" 
cried  Robbie,  looking  first  at  one  and  then  the  other. 
"It  cannot  be.    This  is  a  horrible  dream." 

"Oh,  Robbie!"  said  Rachel,  going  up  to  him,  "would 
that  it  was.     It  is,  alas,  too  true!" 

"And  Phoebe's  father  is " 

"Thy  Uncle  Phineas!"  she  replied. 

"Good  God!"  exclaimed  Robbie,  "Can  human  en- 
durance survive  this  dreadful  truth?" 

"And  I,"  almost  moaned  Phineas  Strong,  "I  am  the 
guilty  wretch  who  has  done  this  thing.  Smite  me, 
Robert!  Smite  me!  Heaven  will  forgive  the  deed.  I 
have   lived  too  long.     Lived  to  confess  that  I  am  a 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO    ROOST.  303 

scoundrel;  lived  to  know  that  the  little  goodness  I  have 
done  cannot  outweigh  the  awful  misery  I  have  caused ; 
cannot  wipe  out  the  stain,  the  disgrace,  the  horrible 
effects  of  my  great  sin. 

/^"Oh,  Robert,  my  sin  I  thought  twofold;  but,  alas,  it 
is  fourfold.  I  ruined  a  young  and  innocent  girl;  I 
deceived  and  dishonored  the  noblest,  sweetest  wife  man 
ever  had;  I  drove  my  ruined  victim  into  the  street; 
and  now,  now  through  me,  my  sin,  is  disclosed  the 
awful  truth  that  forever  disgraces  thee  and  thy  child. 
Let  me  diel" 

He  turned  to  his  weeping  wife,  bowed  his  head  upon 
her  shoulder  and  wept  like  a  child.  "Thee  was  right, 
Rachel,  chickens  come  home  to  roost." 

"Chickens  come  home  to  roost,"  repeated  Aunt 
Rachel. 

"Chickens  come  home  to  roost,"  sighed  poor  Lydia 
Langdon. 

"Chickens  come  home  to  roost,"  said  Robbie  Porter, 
leaning  against  the  wall,  and  with  mist-dimmed  eyes 
sadly  surveying  the  scene. 

There  is  little  more  to  be  told.  By  degrees  the  effect 
of  the  matters  just  related  wore  away,  and  tranquillity 
returned.  What  you  and  I  know,  reader,  was  soon,  in 
every  detail,  disclosed.  From  the  new  Phoebe  it  was 
agreed  some  of  the  matters  had  best  be  concealed. 
Phineas  Strong  was  soon  made  acquainted  with  all 
the  circumstances  that  induced  Robbie  to  return  to 
Virginia. 


304  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

From  an  old  bookcase  he  produced  the  lying  letter 
of  Josephine  Bowers. 

From  the  old  attic,  in  his  father's  old  knapsack,  Eob- 
bie  brought  its  contents,  and  among  them,  yellow  with 
age,  was  found  his  mother's  marriage  certificate.  It 
had  lain  there,  undiscovered,  for  nearly  thirty  years. 

In  the  afternoon,  Phineas,  with  Rachel  on  his  arm, 
Robbie,  with  his  mother,  Sarah  and  the  new  Phcebe, 
already  proud  of  her  handsome  father,  visited  the  little 
burying  ground.  At  the  grave  of  the  color  bearer 
Lydia  Langdon  knelt.  Before  his  beloved  Phoebe's, 
Robbie  stood  with  uncovered  head,  while  a  flood  of 
recollections  rolled  before  his  vision. 

"Here,"  said  Phineas  Strong,  "at  the  graves  of  the 
brave,  the  beloved  dead,  let  us  bury  all  the  past.  Let 
us  forgive  one  another,  as  we  hope  forgiveness  here- 
after. To  the  most  of  us,  our  remaining  days  are  few. 
While  they  last  let  us  try  to  be  happy.  Robert, 
Lydia,  Sarah,  I  have  enough  for  all.  Let  this  here- 
after be  your  abiding-place.  To-morrow,  Robbie,  thee 
can  draw  a  deed,  quit  claim,  for  thy  mother  to  execute. 
My  will  gives  the  place  to  Phcebe,  so  I  want  her  to 
have  an  unclouded  title.  Though  I  guess  the  statutes 
of  limitation  would  defeat  thy  dower  suit;  however, 
the  law  can  do  no  more  than  we  ourselves  can  do. 
Prepare  the  deed,  and  I  will  immediately  settle  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  upon  thy  mother.     Is  that  fair?' 

"More  than  fair.  Uncle  Phineas,"  replied  Robbie. 
*'Thee  was  always  good.     We  may  yet  see  happy  days. " 

As  to  Robbie,  the  invitation  to  remain  at  River  View 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  305 

met  with  his  entire  approval.  He  decided  at  once  to 
accept.  Sarah,  however,  returned  to  her  advertising 
business  in  New  York,  there  to  sound  the  praises  of  her 
brother  Robert,  leaving  her  mother  happier  than  she 
had  ever  known  her. 

A  few  weeks  after  his  return,  Robbie  and  his  daugh- 
ter Phoebe  made  a  visit  to  Fredericksburg.  At  the 
post  office  he  was  presented  with  letters  forwarded  to 
him  from  New  York.  One  of  them  was  a  large,  bulky 
package.  He  opened  it,  and  once  more  his  nerves 
sustained  a  shock.     It  was  the  following: 

"Lancaster,  Pa.,  April  30,  1890. 
"Robert  Porter,  Esq.,  New  York  City. 

"Sir:  We  beg  leave  to  inform  you  that  after  much 
effort  and  expense,  we  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
you  are  the  Robert  Porter  for  whom  we  advertised 
about  a  year  ago.  Investigation  which  we  have  made 
confirms  us  to  the  extent  that  we  feel  safe  in  saying 
that  if  you  can  come  here  with  proofs  as  to  your  iden- 
tity, you  will  be  declared  the  sole  legatee  by  will  of  the 
late  Josephine  Bowers,  a  widow  lady  who  died  a  year 
ago,  leaving  an  estate  valued  at  two  hundred  thousand 
dollars.  It  was  her  dying  request  that  the  enclosed 
packet  of  letters  should  be  sent  you  the  minute  you 
were  found.  If  you  can  come  here  at  once,  do  so. 
"Yours  truly,  Rich  &  Stone." 

One  glance  at  the  dozen  faded  letters  was  enough. 
They  were  his  letters  to  Phoebe,  and  one  or  two  from 

Phoebe  to  him.     They  seemed  like  messages  from  the 

dead. 

In  a  few  weeks  there  appeared  over  the  grave  of  the 

color  bearer  an  appropriate  tombstone.     Upon  it  was 

inscribed : 


306  CHICKENS  COME  HOME  TO   ROOST. 

"Sacred  to  the  memory 

of 

BENJAMIN  PORTER, 

Who  lost  his  life  displaying  his 

Country's  flag  upon  the  field  of  battle.'* 

His  widow  and  his  son  have  erected  this  stone  to 
commemorate  his  valor,  and  as  a  testimonial  of  their 
affection. 

Over  the  grave  of  the  once  beauteous  Phcebe  now 
stands  a  marble  shaft,  whose  polished  sides  are  still 
shining  in  the  sun. 

*'Wife,"  "Daughter,"  "Mother,"  in  letters  large 
and  clear  are  carved  upon  it. 

On  one  side  this  inscription  appears : 

"Sacred  to  the  memory 

of 

PHCEBE  STRONG  PORTER. 


"Her  life  was  like  a  flower,  pure,  sweet 
and  fragrant.  Like  a  flower  she  faded. 
It  is  the  belief  of  those  whose  love  hath 
cauped  this  stone  to  be  erected,  that  like 
a  flower  she  blooms  again,  now,  in  the 
gardens  of  eternity,  where  the  seeds  of 
affection  never  die,  and  the  roses  of  hope 
never  perish." 


CONCLUSION. 


Among  the  faded  and  yellow  letters  Robbie  received 
was  one  which  for  several  days  failed  for  some  reason 
to  be  noticed.     lb  looked  more  fresh  than  the  others. 


CHICKENS   COME   HOME   TO   ROOST.  307 

and  the  superscription  was  in  a  different  handwriting 
from  Phoebe's.  How  it  escaped  his  attention  he  could 
not  understand.  It  was  sealed  and  marked  "To  be 
opened  only  by  Robbie  Porter."  He  tore  away  the 
envelope,  and  this  is  what  he  found  within: 

"Dear  Robert:  Physicians  tell  me  that  I  must  soon 
die.  I  cannot,  therefore,  meet  you  here  face  to  face. 
It  was  for  years  my  hope,  my  dream,  that  fate  or  chance 
would  throw  us  again  together.  That  dream  is  now 
dispelled;  that  hope  is  dead.  For  nineteen  years  I 
have  lived  a  life  of  misery.  I  have  endured  all  the 
pangs  remorse  can  bring;  have  suffered  the  never-dying 
humiliation  of  a  despised  love.     For  I  loved  you. 

"Jealousy  prompted  me  to  conspire  against  the  sweet 
object  of  your  affection.  My  love  for  you  made  me 
mad.  I  burned  some  of  her  letters  and  retained  yours. 
In  the  hope  that  you  would  love  me,  I  invented  a  base 
lie  about  your  dear  uncle.  Your  rage,  your  resent- 
ment will  be  kindled  against  me.  Forgiveness  you 
can  never  grant.  My  own  passion  has  shown  me  how 
deeply  I  injured  you,  how  cruelly  I  wronged  her,  and 
how  utterly  despicable  was  my  crime.  In  the  hope  of 
softening  your  anger,  I  have  made  you  my  heir. 
Everything  is  yours,  even  the  judge's  library  you  so 
highlj^  prized.  I  have  learned  that  wealth  and  position, 
without  love  and  goodness,  are  useless  acquisitions.  I 
hope  you  will  spend  my  money  in  princely  prodigality; 
and  in  the  luxuries  it  may  supply,  forget  the  sin  of  poor 
Josephine  Bowers,  whose  one  base  act  has  blasted  for- 
ever all  her  hopes  of  happiness  beyond  the  grave. 

"Sure  enough,  as  you  said  your  Aunt  Rachel  used  to 
say: 

"  ^Chickens  Come  Home  to  Boost.'  " 

THE  END. 


\ 


"^he  Whirligig 
of  Time" 


A    NOVEL        JS        M        JS        "Bi^  WB.  HILLES 
Author  of  "  Chickens  Come  Home  to  R.oost" 


The  publishers  announce  that  they  have  now  in  press  the 
above-named  book.  This  is  a  story  in  Mr.  Hilles'  best  vein. 
It  is  far  more  dramatic  than  his  former  story,  "Chick- 
ens Come  Home  to  Roost,"  is  replete  with  dramatic  scenes, 
and  teems  with  stirring  situations.  There  is  action  from  the 
first  chapter  to  the  last.  Among  the  most  stirring  and  most 
thrilling  things  in  the  story  may  be  mentioned  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  flood  near  the  old  District  School;  the  fist  fight 
on  Walnut  Hill  between  Leslie  Morton,  the  hero,  and  Amos 
Stoneman,  the  villain;  the  murder  trial  of  ]\Iazie  Melton,  the 
heroine;  the  dramatic  appearance  in  court  as  her  champion 
and  defender  of  the  lover  of  her  girlhood;  his  speech  in  her 
behalf,  her  acquittal  and  marriage  to  her  first  love;  the  dis- 
covery of  the  secret  o''  her  birth,  and  the  sudden  revelation 
that  her  mother  was  not  her  mother. 

The  comedy  parts  in  the  story  are  sustained  by  an  unique 
character  named  David  Geer,  who  fought  with  Scott  at 
Lundy's  Lane  and  lost  his  freedom  at  Bull  Run — because  he 
would  not  run.  Geer  has  some  strange  notions  of  life,  laws 
and  society,  and  the  way  to  run  the  government  in  general, 
which  he  freely  advances  for  the  benefit   of  the  reader. 

Critics  who  have  read  "The  Whirligig  of  Time"  pronounce 
it  "a  splendid  piece  of  narrative  writing,  vivid,  eloquent  and 
stirring." 

Bound  In  cloth,  gilt  top,  320  pages;  price,  $1.50.  Advance 
orders  received  up  to  the  time  the  book  is  out  will  be  filled 
at  the  wholesale  price  of  90  cents  per  copy. 


ISAAC   if.    'BLANCH ARD    CO.,  Publishers 
268=270    Canal    Street,    NEW   YORK    CITY 


'Popular  Publications 

To  be  had  of  all  dealers,  or  sent 
direct    upon    receipt    of  price       ^ 


I  lie  I  alllUU>  Idle)  OCIiCd  Seventeen  volumes  containing  120 
stories  and  poems  of  the  best  authors.  The  beautiful,  classical  and  wonderful 
in  literature.  Three  hundred  pages  in  each  volume,  on  excellent  paper, 
beautifully  bound  in  Royal  Blue  Cloth,  gold  stamped.  Single  volumes,  by 
mail  postpaid,  jil.oo.  The  whole  set,  including  bookcase,  sent  to  any  address, 
express  paid,  $8.50.     Send  for  descriptive  circular. 

THE  FAMOUS  TALES  SERIES— I.  Famous  Tales  of  Battle,  Camp 
and  Siege.  2.  Famous  Tales  of  the  Sea.  j.  Famous  Tales  of  Heroism. 
4.  Famous  Tales  of  Wonder.  5.  Famous  Weird  Tales.  6,  Famous  Tales  of 
Fairyland  and  Fancy.  7.  Famous  Classic  Tales.  8.  Famous  Classic  Tales. 
9.  Famous  Classic  Tales.  10.  Famous  Child  Stories.  11.  Famous  Tales  of 
Olden  France.  12.  Famous  Tales  of  the  Orient.  13.  Famous  Prose  Idyls. 
14.  Famous  Tales  of  Enchantment.  15.  Famous  Occult  Tales.  16.  Famous 
Tales  of  Barbarians  and  Savages.     17.  Famous  Tales  of  Gods  and  Heroes. 


"Chickens  Come  Home  to  Roost"  fiLL^ted"  wuh 

ten  full-page  drawings,  printed  on  elegant  deckel-edge  paper,  gilt  top,  red 
cover,  stamped  in  gold,  special  design.  Now  in  its  12th  edition.  Has  been 
declared  by  hundreds  of  critics  "  The  Greatest  Novel  of  the  Century."  At  all 
dealers.     Postpaid,  $1.50.     Send  for  descriptive  circular. 

"The  Romance  of  Robert  Burns  "    .^IJ^!"'  Tu"„t 

trated  vrith  24  Scottish  scenes,  and  handsome  half-tone  of  the  author  of 
"  Highland  Mary."  Second  edition.  Nearly  300  pages,  "in  elegant  bind- 
ing." The  most  beautiful  story  ever  written  of  Scotland's  immortal  bard. 
Postpaid,  gl.50,  or  at  all  dealers.     Send  for  descriptive  circular. 


"A  Sunbeam  in  the  Night"    ^.^L";. ^- J^s? 


Second 
most   remark- 
able  work.     Along  the  line  of  Lycurgus,   Moore's   Utopia   and   Bellamy's 
"Looking  Backward,"  yet  m*e  remarkable  than  either.     It  will  wake  you 
up  and  entertain  you.     Paper,  25  cents  ;  cloth,  50  cents,  postpaid. 
Send  for  descriptive  circular. 


ISAAC    H.    BLANCHARD    CO. 

Publishers    Jg   268-270   Canal  St.,   Netti    Yorlt 


'BLANC  HJi'K'D'S 


To   be   had  of  all  dealers,  or  sent 
direct   upon    receipt    of    price        # 


"Mother  Goose  in  a  New  Dress "  OA^JsoN^^Cy^ 

two  large  quarto  pages,  printed  on  hand  made  deckel  edge  paper,  bound  in 
boards,  containing  the  most  popular  Mother  Goose  Rhymes,  set  to  melodious 
music,  with  appropriate  illustrations.  Also  the  weird  story  of  Blue- 
beard and  a  simple  Santa  Claus  March.  Designed  for  mothers  and  teachers, 
for  kindergartens,  ,  rimary  schools  and  the  little  folks.  Very  attractive,  very 
durable.     Postpaid,  50  cents.     Send  for  descriptive  circular. 

In       C\\A       PrtCOail  ^1  Idyl  of  the  Caribbean   Islands.     By  Wm. 

II  yjlU  I\tlMSaU  s.  Birge.  An  interesting  and  beautiful  ac- 
count of  life  and  travels  in  the  Islands  of  Dominica,  with  illustrations  of  scenes 
and  natives.  Substantially  and  elegantly  bound  in  cloth.  Postpaid,  50  cents. 
Send  for  descriptive  circular. 

"Vaudeville  and  Other  Things  "  (A^Jhor'oV  -T.^ 

Grandpa^),  A  collection  of  JZ  pages,  portfolio  size,  of  nearly  100  funny  pic- 
tures, in  colors,  of  Mr.  Bunny's  famous  work  in  the  New  York  Sunday  Herald. 
Sure  to  provoke  laughter.     Sent  postpaid,  50  cts.     Send  for  descriptive  circular. 

"The  Way  of  a  Man  with  a  Maid"  lll%''^:i^''\ 

clever  and  touching  story,  detailing  with  rare  skill  and  much  pathos  the  life 
ofa  good  and  noble  girl,  whose  love  for  a  man  unworthy  her  devotion  cul- 
minated at  last  in  a  tragedy  as  sad  and  deep  as  was  ever  woven  of  the  woof  of 
aiystery  and  love.  Beautifully  printed  and  bound.  Postpaid,  ^1,50.  Send 
for  descriptive  circular. 

**\A/1M    f  »♦    I  orlrfo"  By  Leon  Mead.     A  splendid   story  for 

TTIIU    V/Ql    L^CU^IS  Boys.     Just  the  kind  of  a  tale  to  stimulate 

the  rising  sportsman.  Full  of  good  instructions,  as  well  as  entertaining.  Cloth, 
postpaid,  75  cents.     Send  for  descriptive  circular. 

"Thp  Tiirl  From  Mpxiro"    .  ^^  ^'^^^  ^    "^°^     A" 

I  nC   Villi    I   lUlll    ITICAICU  interesting  and  refreshing  narra- 

tive. Supplemented  by  a  dozen  happy  stories  and  sketches,  all  highly 
entertaining.  Bound  in  specially  designed  cover,  200  pages,  extra  paper. 
Postpaid,  gi .00.     Send  for  descriptive  circular. 


ISAAC    H.    BLANCHAF^D    CO. 

•Publishers    JS    268=270    Canal  St.,   NeW   York 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 


Wilmer 
573 


